


offer me that deathless death

by rearvlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Gore, Established Relationship, M/M, dom!Louis, family names have been changed, louis and harry are serial killers, mentions of past sexual abuse, smut tags before the chapters, sub!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rearvlou/pseuds/rearvlou
Summary: Harry’s neat. Always has been. He does everything with as much care as possible when stabbing someone. He’s meticulous with his cuts, knows exactly what hurts the most, and also what kills them the fastest.Louis is the opposite. He never cares if he leaves a mess. He loves the feeling of destroying everything around him because ofhishands, underhiscontrol. He was the kind of kid growing up that would take his anger out on his opponent’s in football.That’s why they worked. Louis and Harry. Push and pull. Right and wrong.That’s also why they’re the most wanted serial killers in the UK.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 74
Kudos: 227





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> hey, so i made this as an idea that i had developing for a while. i absolutely adore criminal minds and i always wanted to see louis and harry as serial killers, so i decided to create it myself. 
> 
> WARNING: there are, obviously, going to be a lot of potentially triggering/upsetting topics in this fic. for example, blood, gore, weapons, death, mental illness, childhood trauma, mentions of past sexual assault and probably more. 
> 
> this is most likely going to be an insane, wild ride... so buckle up. 
> 
> lastly, thanks to hozier's "take me to church" for the title :)
> 
> love, teagan  
> A/N 2/5/21: this fic is incomplete so i’m just letting you know that i may make small changes to previous chapters if necessary. happy reading :)  
> \---
> 
> find me on twitter at DALLASMELOUIS

**March 12, 2020**

**PRESENT**

“Harry,”

“What? I’m almost done, gimme one sec,” Harry replies, brushing off Louis’ urgency. He turns away from him and gently presses his bloody finger to the wall. The blue latex glove is covered in the sticky goo and Louis can almost see the drops pooling and waiting to fall.

“The police station is 5 minutes away,” Louis flips Harry's knife in his hand over and over, getting impatient with his boyfriend.

“You think I don’t know that? Besides, no one cares about this loser, it’ll be forever before they find him,” Harry says, his eyes not leaving the wall. He effortlessly dips his finger in the pool of blood on the floor before reaching over to keep writing.

Louis sighs and rolls his eyes, redirecting his attention to the disfigured body splayed in front of him.

“Should we leave him?”

“Yeah, way more evidence if we try to drag him somewhere. It’s not like we’re gonna be able to hide the fact that we were here,” Harry scoffs.

Louis smiles brightly and looks up to take in the scene. They managed to set up in the upstairs bedroom, after finding their target hiding in his closet. Broken glass littered the floor and ripped up the carpet.

“Who knocked over the lamp?” Louis inquires to himself, but Harry overheard. He always does.

“You did, Lou. You knocked it over with your fat elbow while you were tying him to the bedpost. You need to be more careful. You’re gonna get us caught,” Harry replies. Louis looks up at him, about to answer, when he sees Harry dot the last “i” and pull his gloves off, “I’m done, let’s go.”

“Yeah okay, looks good by the way. Neatest one yet.” Louis pulls himself off his knees to stand up and admire Harry’s work.

Harry’s neat. Always has been. He does everything with as much care as possible when stabbing someone. He’s meticulous with his cuts, knows exactly what hurts the most, and also what kills them the fastest.

Louis is the opposite. He never cares if he leaves a mess. He loves the feeling of destroying everything around him because of _his_ hands, under _his_ control. He was the kind of kid growing up that would take his anger out on his opponent’s in football.

That’s why they worked. Louis and Harry. Push and pull. Right and wrong.

That’s also why they’re the most wanted serial killers in the UK.

“Thanks, Lou. You have my knife right?” Harry steps back from his work to stand shoulder to shoulder with Louis.

“Of course,” Louis slides the knife out from under his sleeve and drops on one knee, dramatically. He holds the knife out in his palms and bows his head, presenting it to Harry.

“Get up, idiot,” Louis looks up at him to see Harry beaming. Louis smiles back and stands up as Harry gently takes the knife from his outstretched hands.

Louis watches him pick up his discarded, blood-stained, latex glove off the carpet. He carefully wipes down the shiny steel, making sure he absorbs every drop off the blade.

“You know sometimes I feel like you love that knife more than me,” Louis reaches out to run his fingers through Harry’s curls as Harry rubs the latex over the engraved “H.S.” on the gold handle.

“Maybe I do. I can’t carry _you_ in my pocket. Well-"

“Don’t say it,” Louis says while pulling his hand back and booping Harry’s nose, “I was born this way, baby.”

“Please don’t start singing Lady Gaga at a murder scene,” Harry fondly rolls his eyes, “Are we good?”

“Yeah, I kept my gloves on the whole time and I grabbed the nylon ties, so we aren’t leaving anything behind. You have your knife and I have my gun,” Louis counts off on his fingers and pats his back pocket, where his gun is stashed.

“Ready,” Harry confirms and spins around to head out the bedroom door. Louis takes one last look at the dead man on the carpet beside the bed before turning to follow Harry.

“That’s number five on the list. Feels good,” Louis offers from behind him. Harry doesn't look back, but Louis knows he’s smiling in agreement.

They make their way through the upstairs hallway, ducking when they get to the foyer window. It’s still light outside and they can’t risk any neighbors seeing them. They duck walk to the stairs and head down them quietly, even though they know no one can hear them. It’s just instinct at this point.

“What’s the plan to get out of here? I know you told me before, but I wanna make sure I know,” Harry asks from in front of him.

“I surveyed the area. We parked the car on the other side of the woods in the backyard. It’s about a half-mile hike through the woods to get to the alleyway where it’s parked. All we have to do is not let anyone see us from the house to the woods.” Louis explains.

“Why did we decide to kill someone at 4pm, again?”

“It’s more fun that way. Thrilling. I love it,” Louis defends.

“You are ridiculous,” Harry giggles.

They reach the backdoor after a little more walking and stumbling over basically everything in the house.

“On the count of three, we’re gonna sprint to the woods. Take my hand, you’re slow sometimes,” Louis instructs.

Harry playfully slaps him just as Louis swings the door open. “Focus, this is important. Run fast and please, for fuck’s sake, don’t fall on your face.”

“I won’t, promise,” Harry assures him. Louis looks into his eyes with intent to make sure he knows this is serious now. He searches his face for any sign of doubt or confusion, but Harry looks more confident than he ever has.

Louis takes a deep breath and sticks his head out slowly. He searches the neighboring backyards for any sign of life. He spots a small dog laying in the grass two yards over, but that’s it.

“Coast is clear, ready?” Louis asks the taller boy.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Louis traces his fingers down Harry’s arm and laces their hands together. He squeezes hard, not sure if he’s trying to calm Harry or himself. Probably both.

“One,” Louis squeezes harder.

“Two,” Harry inhales.

“Three,” Louis takes the first step and pulls Harry behind him. He feels his arm getting tugged and pulled on as Harry clumsily lets himself get dragged.

They don’t say a word as they run straight for the woods. They’re both wearing jeans and long sleeves, so they know they don’t stand out normally. However, two teenagers running through a backyard will always seem suspicious, especially when the only person that lives in the house is a 50 year old man.

Louis forgets himself, it feels like. The only thing he can focus on is the trees quickly growing larger and larger and a gangly boy behind him. He can sense Harry’s pulse in his thumb by how hard he’s squeezing now.

Harry’s breathing is shallower than Louis’. He can hear each inhale and exhale almost in rhythm with his steps. On the other hand, Louis feels like he hasn’t breathed since his left shoe hit the grass.

Louis feels the grass beneath him get rougher and harder. He looks up slightly to see the branches of a large evergreen tree towering above his head.

They made it.

Louis doesn’t stop, though. He can’t. He knows they aren’t completely out of sight, yet. He reaches the first large tree trunk and weaves to the left, tugging sharply on Harry’s arm to make sure he doesn’t crash into it.

The dead leaves and broken branches snap and crack beneath their boots. They’ve been running for about 30 yards when Louis feels a sharp tug on his forearm. He stops immediately once he realizes that the weight behind him is pulling him down. He turns around and lets go of Harry’s arm when he sees him on his knees.

“You okay?” Louis asks while wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry flips himself over so he’s sitting on his ass. He grabs his ankle and brings it to his chest.

“Twisted my ankle, I think. It hurts,” Harry hisses when he bends his ankle away from him.

“Sorry, H, I should’ve slowed down. Here, I’ll carry you the rest of the way and then we can get ice at a gas station, okay?”

“Mhm, yeah. I’ll be okay,” Harry says through gritted teeth.

“Get on my back, it’ll be easiest.” Harry nods and Louis drops to his knees in front of him, so that he doesn’t have to jump to get on his back.

Harry seems to understand and crawls over to him and slowly, carefully, climbs onto Louis’ back.

Louis is frozen for a minute. He comes to the realization that it might be difficult to get to his feet with a 6-foot-tall giraffe on his back.

Anything for his boy.

He takes a deep breath in and uses all his weight in his left leg to raise his right knee. He then transfers his weight to his right thigh to propel himself up to both feet. He bounces Harry on his back a few times before deciding this is the best it’s gonna get.

“This is gonna be a bumpy ride, Haz,” Louis warns and takes a few steps forward.

“I just killed someone, Louis. I think I can handle a piggy back ride. Besides, we’re in the clear now. We don’t have to run.”

“You know, I played football for 10 years and not once did I twist my ankle running,” Louis chimes in.

“Yeah well you suck with knives. We all have our things.” Louis shuts up after that, he just walks in silent.

They make their way through the woods, rather slowly. He knows they’re getting closer because the distance between the trees is gaining and the sky is more visible.

“Louis,” Harry says quietly, “I don’t have blood on me, do I? I didn’t stab, it shouldn’t have sprayed.”

“No, you don’t. You did a good job. You always do,” Louis praises him. It’s true, honestly. Louis loves watching him work. The way he feeds off his victim’s screams. The way they squirm beneath him, begging for mercy. And it doesn’t even phase Harry. He never hesitates.

They have a process, Louis and Harry. They work together in the best ways and never fight over who does what. That’s why they are so good at this. The killing thing.

Louis loves talking. He’s addicted to playing with people’s emotions. Loves to watch them get hopeful and shatter their spirits when Harry pulls out his knife. The feeling of watching someone’s eyes light up under the pooled tears when faced with a flicker of hope, only to get dragged down when faced with inevitable death. It makes Louis jittery with adrenaline and power.

He also has his gun. His unloaded gun. Yet, it’s his biggest weapon.

A gun frightens you into submission. When there is a threat two inches from your temple, you can be baited into anything. Louis doesn’t need bullets to make someone beg.

He remembers one of their first unplanned kills, a man that spit at them in a pub for making out, Louis had retrieved his gun from his car and slid next to the man’s back. He rested his lips right next to his ear and whispered, “I have a gun pointed at your back, I suggest you follow me outside right now.”

The man put his drink down and squeezed his eyes shut before slowly standing up. Harry still sat at the bar about 10 feet away. As they walked past him, Louis made eye contact with him and lifted his coat up, just enough that Harry could see the butt of his pistol. He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows and Harry got the message. He paid the bartender, thanked him, and quietly followed Louis into the parking lot.

Their car had been parked behind the building in a vacated area. They led the fearful man to the car, and pushed him inside. Harry went around to the front to drive and Louis slid in next to the man.

Louis reached beneath the carseat to pull out his box. He rummaged through to find his favorite rope.

“Hands, please,” Louis had condescendingly asked. The man hesitated, but nevertheless, offered his wrists to Louis. Louis skillfully replaced the gun with his hands and grabbed his wrists and pulled them together. With his other hand, he placed the gun between his teeth. Then, he had bound his hands with 4 intricate knots.

“Let’s go to the spot, H,” Louis had suggested from the backseat.

“Yes, sir.”

Louis then turned his attention back to the man, who was now facing forward, “You’re in for a fun time. You’ve seen our faces. Which means...,” Louis pretended to ponder to himself, “This right here,” Louis pointed to himself and smiled, “is the last one you’ll ever see.”

…

“Ok, good, just wanted to make sure. I can’t be covered in blood when we go to the gas station, of course,” Harry replies.

“Hey, look, we’re here,” Louis saw the familiar, brick building ahead of them. The brown dirt turned to pavement beneath his feet and the sun came into view.

Ahead of them sat their stashed car, tucked away behind an abandoned building. It’s a basic, black range rover. Definitely too fancy for its job.

Louis approaches the passenger door and swings it open. Turning his back to the opening, he leans back and drops Harry into the seat dramatically. Harry pulls his legs inside and Louis goes to close the door, but Harry stops him.

Louis looks at him confused but smirks when he sees Harry has a huge, beaming smile on his face.

“It’s time for the back-up plan,” Harry says and giggles.

See, their “back-up plan” consists of them making out in the car, so that if any wanderers find them, they won't be suspicious of a hidden range rover behind an abandoned building. They’ll just brush it off and not associate them with the dead body that would be found in a matter of days.

But if Louis’ being honest, it’s just an excuse to mess around with his boy.

“How could I forget?” Louis steps into the passenger seat and straddles Harry’s waist.

Louis feels high off this. Giddy, almost. He pushes Harry's chest deeper into the seat and then pulls back to admire him. Their lips haven’t even touched, but he feels like he’s on fire.

“You did good, babe. So good. ‘m so proud,” Louis randomly praises. He shuts the car door and immediately feels the car get hotter.

“Five, Lou, five!” Harry laughs and claps his hands in front of Louis’ face. Louis smiles back at him and then grabs his wrists. He pushes them above Harry’s head, pinning them to the headrest. Harry slides down in the seat slightly, allowing Louis to tower above him. Louis lets one of his hands hold Harry down and uses the other one to search for the lever below the seat.

His fingers trace the side of the seat, scouring while keeping eye contact with Harry. He finds it in a matter of seconds and tugs hard. The back of the seat drops down quickly and Harry’s whole body bounces back up.

“Oops,” Louis apologizes. Harry just keeps smiling in return, so Louis assumes he’s okay. He leans down so his forehead is resting only 3 inches from Harry’s face. He then grips his pinned wrists harder and slides them up higher, stretching Harry’s torso out.

“Kiss me, please,” Harry begs from beneath him. Louis goes to obey his request, but freezes when he spots a small drop of blood on Harry’s neck. He brushes past Harry’s lips, teasingly slow. His nose traces his jawline, crawling closer and closer towards his ear. He, then, quickly drops his lips south and sucks hard on Harry’s neck, right below the blood drop.

“You have something here,” Louis kisses gently on his neck. He takes his free hand and brings it up to Harry’s collarbone and firmly presses his palm, neutralizing Harry even more. Louis finally licks over the drop of blood and collects it. Harry squirms beneath the touch.

“Got blood on you babe,” Louis releases himself from his neck and pulls back. He takes his hand and rubs it over the forming bruise, “I got it, though.”

“Where do you think it came from, hmm?” Louis asks. Harry looks up at him lustifully and tries to think, but Louis doesn’t want him to answer.

“Maybe the wall?” Louis finally leans in to kiss him, then. Just a short peck, leaving Harry chasing after his lips when he pulls back. Louis doesn’t keep him waiting, though.

“Maybe it did spray. Maybe when you were cutting him open, you didn’t notice it get on you. But, you notice everything, I thought?” Louis carefully unbuttons Harry’s flannel, hovering his lips over each one.

“You know if there is blood on your neck, I’m not confident there isn’t blood anywhere else…” Louis dives in then. He’s no longer patient or teasing. His lips connect with Harry's collarbone and he sucks hard, releasing a low moan from Harry. He lets his wrists go, but looks from them to Harry’s eyes, making sure he knows not to move them an inch. He uses both hands now to shimmy his flannel off his shoulders and expose his whole chest.

Louis plants his hands on either side of Harry’s chest, using his strength to hover above Harry. The only part of his body that’s touching him is his lower body where their legs are tangled.

He drags his beard up and down Harry’s chest, scratching it while biting down at random times, not letting his boyfriend get used to anything.

“This is what your victims feel like, you know,” Louis kisses closer and closer to Harry’s crotch, “They don’t know what's coming next,” he licks around his belly button, “But you don’t even care, do you?”

“No, no… I don’t,” Harry whispers through a small groan, when Louis sucks particularly hard.

“I love watching you. You make people scared of you, Harry. You don’t even realize. You’re too busy focusing on your knife and your work, that you don’t notice when they take their last breath. When their eyes roll back in their head. Because of _you _,__ because of _your_ skills. Make me so proud,” Louis kisses him on the lips, shutting up any response he’d have. It’s a proper kiss, this time. His tongue slides across his bottom lip and he rubs his finger lightly across Harry’s neglected nipple, causing his mouth to open slightly. Louis slips his tongue in all the way and brings both of his hands up to Harry’s neck.

He squeezes lightly, not enough to cut off his air supply, but just enough to make Harry’s chest tighten and tense up.

Louis lifts up his hips and slowly rolls down, grinding down on Harry’s dick, his lips never leaving his mouth.

Harry bucks his hips up instinctively, and they lazily grind together, meeting each other in the middle.

“Fuck,” Louis groans, “Harry, we gotta get ice on your ankle. The swelling is gonna get worse.”

“Okay,” Harry immediately brings his wrists down to his lap and gently pushes Louis off of him. He reaches down beneath the seat and grabs the lever, propelling the seat upwards. He grabs his flannel and pulls it back on his shoulders. Louis sighs and climbs off his lap, opening the door. He walks around to the driver side and steps in.

Louis’ used to this. Harry.

He hasn’t figured it out, yet. He’s not sure Harry even realizes.

Harry somehow has the ability to just turn off his horniness like a light switch. He’s noticed it with other emotions, too. It’s like he doesn’t get affected by anything.

“Ready? We have to go in public, now, so this is where it gets important. Act normal,” Louis states.

“I know, Louis, let’s go.”

Louis inhales sharply, turning his face away from Harry, slightly. He pulls out his keys and starts the engine. He contemplates bringing it up with Harry, again. The way it seems like nothing pulls on his heart, like it should. It’s been that way forever, ever since Louis’ known him.

Harry’s off. Louis knows that. He knows it's not “normal” to not even flinch when someone screams and begs to be let go. It’s not normal to despise hugs. To reject kind gestures from strangers. To be completely fine after the trauma he faced.

He lets it go, though. Just like normal.

“There’s a gas station about 10 minutes down 75,” Harry chimes in from over in his seat. Louis looks over to see he has his phone pulled out and he’s scrolling through it.

“We gotta go farther, love,” Louis replies, “You take a picture of the wall, this time? I didn’t notice.”

“Of course, I did,” Harry says, sounding offended.

Louis ignores his tone. Ignores him, completely, actually.

They drive in silence, Harry on his phone- probably editing his picture- and Louis stares straight ahead. They’ve pulled onto the highway at this point, heading nowhere in particular. Harry hasn’t complained about his ankle, so Louis figures they can drive a little farther before stopping. He can’t risk someone at the gas station remembering them, even if they aren’t suspects.

The government doesn’t know them. They know the disasters they cause, but as far as Harry and Louis know, they have no clue it's two, practically-teenage, boys.

Just as Louis spots an exit sign for a gas station, Harry reaches over and shows him his phone, “I finished, look.”

Louis pulls off the road just in front of the exit ramp to look at the screen. He grabs Harry’s phone and zooms in.

There, painted in dark red blood, reads:

_This is not the end Psyco_


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **graphic and trigger warnings for this chapter: blood, gore, cuts, and mentions of past neglect and abuse.**
> 
> it gets intense, bear with me.

**Five Days Later**

**PRESENT**

“How does a man just disappear? Is he dead? Did he fly over the Bermuda triangle? Where did he go?” Louis opens his eyes slightly at the sound of Harry’s voice getting louder and more agitated, “You’d think you’d be able to find a fucking 25 year old dude on the internet.”

“Who, H?” Louis groggily asks. Harry snaps his head to look at him, his face softening when they make eye contact.

“Jeff Azoff,” Harry answers, his voice settled and back to a lower pitch, “I’ve been searching for him for the past hour, while you were sleeping.”

“He's not-ugh- he's not on the list. You wanna add him? Isn't that a little risky?” Louis asks as he stretches his sore arms above his head, sitting up in the bed.

“There were so many people Jeff pestered and annoyed, they’d never expect me and you,” Harry defends.

“Yeah, I know, but we still have people we need to kill, ones we’ve already planned out. We can’t risk getting caught, as much as I love risk.”

“Ugh,” Harry sighs and flops onto the bed, on top of Louis’ feet. After a few minutes of laying there, Harry probably pondering other options, Louis speaks up.

“But… I really wanna kill him,” He says, quietly. It seems like it takes Harry a couple seconds to register what he said, but then he jumps up and grabs Louis’ wrist.

“Are you serious? What about the risk?” Harry’s smile is so bright at this point, his dimples showing. Louis reaches over to poke one, not able to resist.

“Hell yeah, it’s risky. Insanely risky. But, I can spare the extra precautions if it means I get to watch you murder that son-of-a-bitch,” Louis ruffles Harry’s curls and heads to their bathroom.

He maneuvers his way through the bedroom, kicking dirty clothes towards the corner. Just as he steps into the bathroom, he hears Harry’s clicking on his laptop again.

“You know, you might have more luck if you search for Jeffrey Azoff, babe,” Louis smiles through his words. He thinks he can hear Harry mutter “fuck” and slap his forehead.

10 minutes later and Louis’ out of the shower. He wraps his towel around his waist and walks over to Harry, who’s still sitting on the bed.

“I have a lecture at 10, and then we can plan, okay?” Louis shakes his wet hair out above Harry, water dripping onto Harry’s laptop.

“Ahhh, stop it! Louis!” Harry screeches and grabs the computer, getting off the bed. Louis smirks to himself and takes Harry’s place on the bed. He starfishes diagonally, his towel scooting down his hips slightly.

Harry slides into the desk chair and continues typing, not looking at Louis.

“H,” Louis sighs when he doesn’t get an answer and raises his arms dramatically, “Harrrrrry.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles to himself and slides his towel off all the way, “I’m naked?” He says louder.

Harry’s typing slows and Louis chuckles when he throws his head back and groans dramatically. He swivels his chair towards him and gets up, eyeing Louis’ wet chest. Louis’ dick is exposed, but his gaze doesn’t go any lower than his pecks.

Harry’s wearing grey sweatpants and a loose t-shirt that exposes his collarbones. Harry pulls it off as he walks over to the bed and straddles Louis’ hips.

“It's 9:30, Lou,” Harry leans down to kiss him, nevertheless. It's a short one, the kind of kiss that leaves you wanting more, but not making you desperate. Louis pulls him off by his hair with a sharp tug. Louis scoots up the bed, so that he’s propped up against the headboard and reaches down to grab Harry’s ass and pull him completely on his lap.

“You’ve given me a blowjob in four minutes before,” Louis says.

“You’re not even hard, how am I supposed to do it in four minutes,” Harry scoffs at him like he’s ridiculous.

Harry and Louis are both fourth-years in uni and have been rooming together the whole time, so it's not uncommon for them to share mornings like this. They go to an overly fancy school that Harry’s money-licking parents paid for.

Louis loves to challenge Harry, to make him work for things. And he knows Harry loves it, too, because of the way his eyes fill with determination masked under a layer of lust. Louis can see right through, sees the way he just wants to please Louis however he can.

“You can, baby,” Louis runs his fingers up and down the taller boy’s back, encouragingly. Harry takes a deep breath and nods. He smoothly scoots his ass down, grinding harshly right over Louis’ cock.

“Fuck,” Louis moans at the sudden, aggressive contact. Harry lifts up again and falls back down, one more time, before grabbing Louis’ dick in his hand. He wastes no time and strokes the base a few times before wrapping his mouth around the tip.

Louis watches him for as long as he can before he has to squeeze his eyes shut, and bite his lower lip.

Without any foreplay or teasing, the sensations on his dick are overwhelming… and he’s not even fully hard yet.

“You can do it… shit.. I know you can,” Louis groans through his words when Harry sucks hard and takes him deeper.

Harry’s mouth slicks up his cock almost exactly how lube would. He’s messy and out of control, slobbering everywhere. Spit practically bubbles around his lips and Louis just wants to kiss it all away.

“It’s been like...ungh… two minutes,” Louis manages to get out.

Harry seems to act like Louis challenged him because he bobs his head faster and even deeper.

He takes a second to breathe, and pulls his mouth off. Louis tries to rest, too, even for just a moment, so he isn’t prepared when Harry replaces his tongue with two of his fingers. He practically pinches Louis’ tip and slides it between his pointer and middle.

Before Louis can even begin to think again, Harry’s sinful mouth is back on his cock. He doesn’t even hesitate completely taking him in all the way, in one fluid motion.

“I’m close, fuck, keep going,” Louis urges him on.

Soon after, the familiar tightness in his stomach causes his back to arch and his toes to curl. Harry appears to get the memo.

He pulls off and looks at Louis for further instruction. His lips are puffy and swollen. Wet tears glisten his eyes and make his lashes stand out. His long curls are tangled by his shoulders and his middle part is indistinguishable, now.

“Yeah, mhmm, on your face,” Louis decides. He wraps a hand around his dick and Harry drops his jaw, awaitingly. He releases his come all over Harry’s eyes and nose, most of it missing his mouth.

Harry licks around, trying to grab some of it. He retrieves some, but has to use his fingers to scoop some between his lips.

Harry finally gets enough, it seems, and flops on his back, next to Louis.

Louis cuddles into him, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders. He had noticed the wet spot in Harry’s sweats but reaches around to feel his, now soft, dick and squeezes playfully.

“One of your many talents, Styles,” Louis offers into his ear.

“Killing and blowjobs… You know most people, like, sing or play a sport, or something?” Harry chuckles into the pillow he’s hugging.

“You’re you, Harry. Same person I fell in love with. Nothing about you will change that,” Louis kisses his shoulder, “Besides, those are my two favorite things.”

Louis climbs out of the bed and goes to their closet to get dressed.

He finds a maroon crewneck and pulls it over his white, collared shirt. He decides on his favorite cuffed jeans and black boots.

“Hurry up, you’re gonna be late and my speedy head will be for nothing!” Harry calls out, just as Louis clasps his thin chain behind his neck. He rolls his eyes, but laughs at his ridiculous boyfriend.

Louis steps out of the walk-in and brushes down his sweater.

“Hair check?” Harry looks at him and then the top of his head. He laughs obnoxiously and scurries over to Louis. His large hands fly to his hair and he spends a solid minute seemingly rearranging every single strand. Harry’s neck is right in front of his lips and he fights the urge to lean in and suck a bruise into it.

Then, “Done.” Harry kisses his forehead on the way down and pats both of his cheeks. Louis pretends to model for a second and puts up two peace signs and pouts his lips.

“Sexy,” Harry muses, “Now, go.”

Louis nods and spins towards the door. He opens it and then faces the room again. He locks with Harry’s eyes.

“Find Jeff.”

He can see Harry salute and then heads out the door of their penthouse suite of a dorm.

…

Louis is nearing the end of his chemistry lecture when he gets a text.

_Found him_

He shoots a quick:

___ily you talented motherfucker_ _ _

And refocuses.

____…_ _ _ _

Two hours, three bags of tacos, and one growing headache later, Louis balances the food with one arm while he unlocks the door with his keycard.

Harry’s on him, immediately, and Louis guesses he must have heard him coming.

“Tacos,” Louis announces, stepping past him to get inside.

“Fuck yeah, I’m starving,” Harry says as he snatches one of the bags and carries it over to their kitchen table.

They both sit down across from each other and dive in. Louis’ stomach had been growling all day, and it’s like sex in his mouth when he takes the first bite.

They eat in comfortable silence, for a while, until Harry speaks up, “I found him on a delivery list for beer.”

Louis’ taken aback, “How’d you do that?”

“Eddie, that super genius tech dude, taught me how to hack the website for addresses. I’m not sure why he knows how to do that, but that’s not important. I remembered from school that he always drank that smelly beer so I looked that up first. Got lucky, I guess,” Harry shrugs.

“‘Lucky’,” Louis scoffs and then leans in, “Babe, you’re so smart, it’s crazy.”

“That’s coming from you, Mr. ‘I got into Cambridge _not_ because of my wealth’,” Harry brushes him off.

“Harry, you would have gotten in without your money, you know,” Louis assures him. Harry smiles sadly, but drops the topic.

“Anyway, I figured we could look it up on Google Earth to find a path in. I’m hoping there are woods or back paths or something. I know he’s rich, so it might be hard to get in.”

“Let’s check, before you lose hope,” Louis says, sweetly. Harry takes the last bite of his taco and wipes his mouth with a napkin. They both get up and go over to the desk. Harry sits in the chair and Louis hops up onto his lap. Harry wraps his arms around his waist to get to the laptop on the desk. He swings open and opens Google.

“Earth… 4234… drive… Elsworth…,” Harry mutters as he types in Jeff’s address.

“Baby, that’s it, look,” Louis stares at the screen while Harry zooms in.

There, in the middle of the screen, is a large, white house surrounded by a long driveway, a fence, and a huge patch of decorative trees. They both survey all the details, and Louis notices a path parallel to the house. It gets cut off into the woods and then appears again, leading right into the backyard.

“There.” Louis points.

Harry spots what he’s referring to and zooms out. They both follow it away from his house, all the way to a dog park.

“Harry,” Louis shakes his shoulder and smiles excitedly.

“What?”

“This is it. It’s perfect. We’ll park the range rover in the back end of this park, then hike down this path and straight into his backyard.” Louis traces over where he's referencing, “Then, here, look, I’ll pry this door open down here and we’ll go to his room from there.”

“Four a.m,” Harry states, out of the blue. Louis’ about to question him when he continues, “That’s when we’ll do it. He stayed up late almost every night, I remember. Banged on our door all the time. You never woke up, though.”

“How do you remember so much about him?”

“I don’t know. He was in my face everyday, so I just noticed the little things. Never left my mind, I guess.”

Harry and Louis both return their attention back to the map, at that.

“It’s about an hour away. 2:30, we’ll sneak out the window to the parking lot below us. 3:30, we’ll park the car. Get in, get out. On the way back, we’ll drive around the city until the morning and return to campus with breakfast. 8:00, we get ready for school. Pretend like it never happened. Capisce?”

“Of course. We’ll do the same thing when we get there, as last time. We should have it down by now,” Harry confirms.

“That means we leave in over 12 hours,” Louis sighs dramatically, “Fuck, I’m already itching to go.”

“We should sleep now. Then, wake up at like 8 or 9 and have a movie night,” Harry leans in to whisper the next statement, “I wanna watch The Notebook.”

Harry visibly blushes and smiles shyly and Louis bursts out laughing. Harry seems like he’s gonna defend himself, but Louis speaks up, “You’re so fucking adorable.”

“We can watch it?”

“Of course, baby. Anything,” Louis pulls him for a kiss. It’s sweet and intimate, with no urgency or lust behind it.

“I’ll get the sleeping pills, you set the alarm.”

“Sweet dreams. See you at night, love,” Louis winks.

…

Louis feels a light touch running up and down his spine and slowly opens his eyes. "Louuuu," Harry coaxes quietly.

"We slept through the alarm, it's like 10 now," Harry says as he sits up, "Dark out."

Louis groans. "Pills work well, I guess," He muses, his voice laced with morning rasp.

"Seems like it," Harry coughs lightly, probably from a tickle in his throat. "I found the movie. It's on the TV now, actually."

Louis scoots up in the bed and glances over to where Harry is pointing. He, then, rests his head on his shoulder. "We'll watch this, have a cuddle, a cry, whatever, then we gotta really wake up and get ready to go."

Harry cuddles closer in response, sliding down into Louis' arms. He clicks play on the movie and tosses the remote somewhere on the bed.

"I miss nights like this. When we could just chill," Louis reminisces as the opening credits play, "I loved when he would have movie nights and get all tired, and then you would randomly get a burst of energy and drag me outside to stargaze."

"Maybe we can stargaze tonight? We could go to the car early and sit on top of it. I wanna try to find constellations.”

Louis just hums at first, and then he jolts up, “Wait. Harry, that could work. If anyone sees us, they’ll just assume we’re being romantic. They’ll never guess we drove to murder someone after that. That could be perfect.”

Harry just breathes, “Fuck yes,” and Louis laughs at his enthusiasm. He quickly shushes him, though, when the soft piano music plays in their ears and the canoe comes onto the screen.

Louis mumbles a “sorry” and they sit in silence to watch the movie.

It ends up being a rollercoaster of emotions for Louis. He spent half the time asking Harry dumb questions to annoy him and the other half trying to hide back his genuine emotions.

Louis knew he shed a tear at one point. He remembers reaching up to wipe it, disguising it from Harry by rubbing his eyes.

They’re now both watching the end credits, and Harry’s a shameless, sobbing mess in Louis’ arms. Louis’ staring blankly ahead, rubbing circles on Harry’s arm. He’s murmuring meaningless, soft words and attempting to stay calm. Louis is slightly heartbroken. He can feel Harry’s sadness in his own heart.

He kisses Harry’s forehead and untangles himself. He gets up to use the bathroom and brings back two Mountain Dews. He throws one at Harry and he lazily catches it in his stomach.

“Drink up. It’s enough to make sure you’re fully awake, but not get jittery.”

Harry wipes his tears and stands up off the bed. They both crack open the bottles and gulp it down.

“You pack the backpack. Your knife, my gun, latex gloves, velcro ties, rope, footprint covers, the mini crowbar, back-up knives, alarm silencer, you know the drill,” Louis says seriously, counting off on Harry’s fingers. They're cute like that. 

“Yeah, I can do that. What are you gonna do?”

“Set up the car.”

…

Their plan worked. Extremely well. There were hooded trees and hardly any street lights shining on them. No dogs. Not even a fucking alarm.

Jeff’s a bloody idiot, Louis thinks.

It took them all of 30 seconds to sneak into Jeff’s room, muscle him down, and tie him to the kitchen chair Harry brought in.

Jeff wriggles under the ties around his chest, the chair wobbling back and forth. Louis looks over to see Harry slide down the wall, sitting on the floor. He has his knife in his hand, tracing his finger over the edge of the blade. His eyes are glued to Jeff’s chest, like he’s planning out the exact cuts he wants to make. Louis’ eyes brighten when he sees Harry’s lips turn up at the corners, when his target pleads a little.

“Please, I swear I never meant to hurt anybody. All my friends were telling me to, I didn’t want to.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Louis and Jeff both snap their heads to look at the previously-silent boy. They don’t say a word as Harry slowly stands up and walks over to them, “I was always here, actually. I was here when you watched the whole thing go down and stayed silent. You were the only one who saw, Jeff. I remember locking eyes with you. I was silently begging you to help. But you did nothing. Turned your head away when I looked at you. You are a coward. Always have been.”

Louis can feel his grip on his gun loosen slightly. Harry hardly ever speaks when they’re killing. The only time he does is when he’s politely asking Louis to tighten the ropes or to hand him gloves. He knows what Harry is like alone with him- he’s talkative and giggly- but this, this is new. Louis’ not sure Harry has ever voluntarily strung together more than three sentences around other people.

Something in Harry’s body language changes at the end of his mini-speech. His shoulders sink back down and his confident eyes retreat. Louis watches him spin around on his feet and walk swiftly back to the wall.

Louis and Jeff are both struck silent. It’s like they both forget their place for a minute and Louis almost considers sharing a look with Jeff. It takes him a solid 30 seconds to shake it off and focus again.

“Do you regret it?” Jeff turns his attention to Louis, now. Louis cocks his head and raises his eyebrows, tapping the tip of his gun against the back of Jeff’s head. They look straight into each other’s eyes for a glance, but Jeff cowers away once again.

“Look at me,” Louis bangs his gun against his head harder this time, causing Jeff to wince. It seems to startle him into obedience because his fearful eyes finally meet Louis’s gaze.

‘I said,” Louis drags the gun across his head and yanks on it when he feels strands of Jeff’s hair get stuck in the barrell, “Do you regret it, Jeff?”

Louis can hear him gulp through his words, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“That’s not convincing, Jeffrey.” Louis starts circling his chair, randomly patting his shoulder and leaning in to whisper things in his ear.

“Please,” Jeff pleads and tries to slip his wrists out of the ties. Louis smiles and leans in then. He presses his lips right next to Jeff’s ear.

“You kinda sound like Harry when I’m fucking him,” Louis whispers, so Harry can’t hear. He smirks when Jeff squirms away from him. Louis grabs his chin and sets it pointed straight at the boy across the room.

“He’s so pretty, isn’t he? He gets like this when I tie him down, too. All fidgety and restless. Reminds me of you,” Louis pauses and then, “The only difference, though, is that when I’m done with him, I’m six inches deep in his ass, but you, Jeff, you’ll be six feet underground.”

Jeff doesn’t respond, but his body reacts to Louis’s words and he’s able to physically scoot his chair away. Louis feeds off his reaction and keeps going. He steps closer and grabs the older boy’s neck, forcefully bringing his ear back in reach.

“He’s really good, you know. Much better than you and your dumbass friends, I can guarantee that. In bed, I mean. He’s fucking mad, up for anything.” He looks at Harry across the room and smiles brightly at him. Harry looks confused but returns the favor, nevertheless.

“Anyway, I’m getting bored,” Louis pulls back and says it loud enough so Harry can hear, now.

“Please, I’m sorry, you know that, c’mon man!” Louis completely disregards Jeff’s begging and beckons Harry over.

Harry gets up, once again, and shuffles over to him. He turns his head to the side when he sees Louis cup his hand. Louis leans in to his ear, keeping his eyes on Jeff.

“Need to immobilize his legs so we can lay him on the ground with no problem. I wanna torture him a little first, for revenge, of course,” Louis whispers.

Harry looks like he’s thinking and then turns his head so he can whisper back, “I wanna do it.”

Before Louis can question it, Harry grabs something from his backpack and then approaches Jeff. He has velcro ties behind his back and his knife in his right hand.

Louis retreats back and leans against the wall, watching.

He focuses on Jeff, mostly. Notices the way his eyes brighten slightly when Harry takes Louis’ place. Louis can tell Jeff feels more confident around Harry, even tied down.

“Harry, dude, don’t do this,” Jeff says, his voice much calmer and more determined now. Harry wraps one of the ties around the legs of the chair, trapping Jeff’s shins so he can’t kick. When Harry ignores him, he keeps talking, “This isn’t you. You’re the nice guy. That’s why we all picked on you, you know. You never got mad or sad, you were always just content and all we wanted was to make you angry. But, you never were. Because you’re nice, Harry. C’mon, man. Please. Don’t do it.”

Louis grows a little concerned, considering Harry is hardly ever alone with their victims while they are still alive. Harry doesn’t stop, though. He wraps the ties around his chest now, rendering Jeff completely immobile. Harry takes his knife and presses the tip to Jeff’s shoulder, lightly, just to scare him.

“Your dad. Harry. Your dad, he told me not to say anything.”

Harry drops the knife, suddenly. It clangs on the edge of the bed and falls to the carpet. Louis immediately springs into action, pulling himself off the wall. He’s about to take over, to keep Jeff under control, when Harry pushes him back with one hand.

“I got it,” Harry says, with a point behind it. He picks up the knife and presses it against Jeff’s throat.

“You never talked to my dad.”

“I did. I called him when I saw you. He said to drop it because you would be kicked out if anyone came forward,” Jeff tries to explain as well as he can with a sharp blade on his neck.

“You’re lying.” Harry presses the blade a little deeper, risking penetration.

“I’m not, Harry. I’m not. He doesn’t care about you. That’s why you went to Syco, right? Your parents didn’t care, nobody did.”

Louis struggles to fight the urge to come to Harry’s defense, but he knows Harry wants to do this by himself. He can see it in his eyes, the rage behind them. His face is expressionless, yet Louis can sense the anger radiating from him.

“That’s not relevant, Jeff. You’re not here because of my parents. You’re here because you made my life hell and now I want to end yours.” Harry moves the knife away from his neck and quickly slashes his shoulder blade. Jeff just winces, and Louis can tell he’s gonna try to play the tough guy all the way until the end.

Harry’s skilled enough not to let it splatter, so it just drips down Jeff’s arm. Louis smiles proudly at his boyfriend and tosses his gun up and down in his hand, lightly.

“You never scared me, you know. All of you were pathetic. The whole school.” Harry circles Jeff, looking for his next target.

“Then why did you make your boyfriend fight for you?” Jeff asks, still trying to gain the upper hand.

Harry quickly cuts deeper on his calf, this time splattering blood away from him. “I didn’t,” Harry hisses through gritted teeth, “I didn’t care, Louis did. I didn’t make him do anything.”

“No one just doesn’t care. That’s impossible. Especially with what happened to you,” Jeff tries to wiggle out of the ties, once again, but comes up unsuccessful.

“It is what it is, Jeff. I’m not sure why you’re so worried about me, right now. Considering, you know…” Harry goes for his wrist, this time, right above the ties.

“Fuck, fuck, okay. What can I do? Please, I can help you. Anything,” Jeff pleads, meeting Harry’s eyes when he circles back in front of him.

“You can shut the fuck up,” Harry responds, abruptly. Louis chuckles when he sees Harry’s proud-of-himself smirk.

“You have a very annoying voice, Jeff. I just noticed that. Quiet whiny for a 25 year old man,” Louis chimes in from the wall. Harry and Jeff both shift their attention to him.

“In fact, I don’t want to hear it anymore.” Louis grabs one of their thicker pieces of rope and walks over to them. He slides it over his head and taps Jeff’s mouth. He, surprisingly, obeys and lets Louis slip it in. Louis ties it tight and condescendingly pats his head.

“Carry on,” He ruffles Harry’s curls and returns to the other side of the room.

Harry stops talking. He’s fueled by the increasing volume of Jeff’s screams and whimpers as he cuts all over his body. His hands move swiftly, keeping his composure and calm, even as the time between each cut shortens.

After a while of the intense torture, Harry cocks his head at Louis and gestures for him to come over.

“I’m not letting you off, I hope you know that. I’m just bored of this, now. Time to end it.” Harry knows Louis understands what to do and they both quickly untie all the ties, except his wrists. Louis expects Jeff to try to fight back, even after Harry weakened him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t struggle when the two boys lay him on the floor, next to the chair. His hands are still behind his back as he bleeds out.

Louis and Harry are careful not to let any blood get on them as they set him down. Harry follows protocol and sits on Jeff’s thighs, to keep his legs still. Harry had set his knife on the chair in order to manhandle him properly, so Louis hands it back to him when he gets settled.

“Do your worst, babe,” Louis says as Jeff attempts to wiggle free, with no luck.

“I will,” Harry looks right into Jeff’s eyes and raises his eyebrows, teasingly.

This is so fucking out of character, Louis thinks. Harry’s confident and aggressive, and seems genuinely passionate about what he’s doing. He’s not distant or cold. His body is engaged and he’s talking. It’s odd.

It reminds Louis of himself.

And he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Harry uses one of his hands to roll Jeff over slightly, just enough to expose the side of his chest. He cuts a small slash under his arm, slowly. His previous cuts were quick slashes, more to sting than anything. Now, though, he takes his time.

He returns Jeff fully on his back and moves to the area below his ribcage.

Louis’ returned to the wall at this point, but he can still clearly see. He notices that Jeff is still fully conscious, his face reacting to each pierce on his skin. He assumes he’ll black out soon, though, so he decides to elicit one last trick.

“Harry, stop,” Louis orders from where he’s standing. Harry’s hand freezes and he raises the knife off Jeff’s skin. Harry looks up at him and raises one eyebrow, questioningly.

“Do we have enough lube for later?” Louis sees Harry squeeze his eyes shut, at that, embarrassed. But, he goes along with it.

“Bought a jug last week, remember? It’s strawberry, my favorite.” The blood slowly oozes out of the open wounds and Jeff whimpers through the gag.

“Perfect, babe. It’s gonna be perfect. It’s celebratory.” Harry grins, so Louis continues, “Maybe I’ll eat you out, nice and slow. Open you up for me. I’ll keep you on edge for hours, leave you a begging, writhing mess under my tongue. Then, when you can’t take it anymore, I’ll fuck you hard until you come undone all over yourself… after I give you permission, of course.”

Harry’s cheeks flush an obvious shade of red and Louis smirks at him. He looks flustered and unfocused, and so incredibly turned on. Louis just wants to drag him away from Jeff and pin him against the wall. But, it's not time for that.

They have a job to do.

“Continue,” Louis snaps his fingers gently, gesturing to their unattended victim.

After all these years, Louis is still shocked when Harry’s body immediately relaxes, his cheeks return to white, his grip on the knife tightens, and his eyes dart back to Jeff’s chest.

There is an advantage to Harry's mysterious internal switch. Louis can rile him up in front of their victims to make them uncomfortable, and Harry can completely refocus his attention back to his goal with just one push from Louis, all in a matter of seconds.

Harry presses the knife right up against where he left off. He drags the blade, pulling on the skin, eliciting a scream from Jeff.

Louis watches for a minute and then leaves the bedroom. As he gets farther away, the muffled screams diminish, but he can still hear them all the way to the stairs. He looks over the balcony to the lower floor, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, even though Jeff lives alone.

Louis is lucky all their victims are rich, he knows that. It’s easier for them to handle the assholes who think they’re too cool to share an apartment.

Some people are rich, and some people just happen to have a lot of money.

Jeff’s rich.

The whole house is eerily empty and dark, the only light coming from the bedroom.

Louis loves it. The scariness of it all. He feels like it's taunting him, expecting him to fear it. But he doesn’t. He owns it. He’s the reason people hate the dark, and being home alone.

People are scared of Louis.

Wonderful.

“He’s gone, Lou,” Harry calls out to him.

Louis shakes his thoughts away and turns in the direction of the voice.

“Pulse?” He asks as he steps into the room.

“Dead,” Harry confirms.

Louis looks at the body under Harry’s arms. He thinks he can make out nine slashes across his chest, all of them precisely seven inches long. They create a row, starting from his collarbone down to his- now, disfigured- belly button.

There’s a pool of blood soaked into the carpet, but Louis can tell Harry used his latex-covered finger to wipe it off his chest, so the wounds are more prominent.

“You went diagonal last time,” Louis remarks.

“And I did eight last time, too. Gotta switch it up. Keep Malik on his toes,” Harry stands up, then, his eyes not leaving his work.

“Smart.”

“Thanks,” Harry says with barely any emotion behind it.

“You gonna do your thing?” Louis asks, sensing the arising awkwardness.

“Yep, I have a longer one in mind, this time. It seems fitting.” Harry dips his finger into one of the lower cuts and presses it to the blank wall above Jeff’s dresser.

Louis watches Harry write his message, letter by letter.

After about 10 minutes of tracing over the letters again and again, Harry must be satisfied with the thickness. He steps back to the doorway to admire his work, just like last time.

In unison, Harry and Louis both read it out loud:

“Still together,”

“Still going strong,”

“Fuck you, Azoff.”

Harry practically jumps and leans in to kiss Louis. He pecks him on the lips, keeping his bloody hands by his sides. They pull away shortly after, and Louis does a mental checkthrough, as Harry snaps a photo of the wall. 

“Ready to go?” Harry nods in response.

“Out the window?”

“After you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: the actions louis and harry take on jeff in this fic do not, in any way, whatsoever, portray my feelings towards jeff irl. this is fiction :)


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ
> 
> there is no violence in this chapter, but there are still lots of mentions of violence and murder. 
> 
> important note: the first half of this chapter starts in zayn's pov and the the second half is back to normal. 
> 
> also, just to clear some things up: harry and louis are the same age in this fic, zayn is older. 
> 
> enjoy!

**The Next Day**

**PRESENT**

“We need to get in contact with the surveillance company to see if there is any way we can enhance the footage. Robber one over here isn’t wearing a mask but the image isn’t clear enough to I.D him. We have barely anything else to go off of at this point, so we need to get a match on that guy’s face.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir.” 

Zayn pulls his eyes away from the computer when he hears a ruckus coming from the other side of the police station. One of the newer detectives comes in with a stack of papers and slams them on the conference table, dramatically. He has everyone’s attention at this point, so he sighs loudly and explains. 

“We’ve got another one. Same damn guy.” 

Zayn’s interest is immediately perked, “How do you know for sure? It’s been like 5 days since the last one.” 

“Practically the exact same signature. Long slashes across the chest, ligature marks, and the same writing on the damn wall. Killed some rich guy out in Elsworth this time,” the taller detective says, running his hands through his hair and pacing as he talks. 

“Get the task team and come to the conference room, we’ll go over it, see if we got any more clues from this murder,” Zayn orders. 

He swears to himself under his breath and heads back to his office at the back of the station. He steps inside and shuts the door a little harder than he intended. Going straight for his desk, he searches for the past case files. 

This killer has terrorized the whole east side of the country for the past three months. They managed to date back his kills to January, and it’s now March. Zayn and his team have connected, now, six kills to him, so far. It’s always the same M.O. everytime, with tiny differences. No one working the case has figured out a single thing leading to his identity. Each kill seems incredibly random, the victimology ranging from sixty year olds to younger guys in their twenties. They are also all spread out over the east side, two of them were 300 miles apart. Zayn can’t even figure out where to start. 

He spots the folders and leaves his office to go to the conference room, where his team of six people are all waiting. One of them is pinning pictures to the stereotypical, glass board. 

“Here’s the case files for the past five,” Zayn says, announcing his entrance. 

“Hi, sir. We’re just going over this new murder,” Officer Anderson, one of their female officers, one that Zayn holds a lot of respect for, welcomes him warmly. 

“Anything?” Zayn asks the group, nodding kindly at Anderson. 

“Nope. He’s smart, never leaves anything there. He takes everything with him and must wear gloves, shoe covers, everything. There’s basically nothing here,” Another officer states. 

“Have they identified the victim yet, at least?” 

“Yes, it was pretty easy. His name was on literally everything in his house. The name’s Jeffrey Azoff, goes by Jeff, I think. Or.. went by,” The same officer answers, his face saddening a bit. 

“Alright good. If we can’t get anything from the scene itself, we’re gonna have to find our suspect through the victimology. Let’s pin each victim up and see if we have any connections now. Start with our new guy, Jeff,” Zayn claps his hands and the team gets to work. They go through each case file, pulling out pictures and printed documents and pinning them on the board. 

“The Elsworth P.D found out a bunch of stuff about Jeff before they transferred the case to us, when they saw that it fit our killer. His name is Jeffrey Azoff, obviously. He’s twenty-five years old, studied at Nottingham University, secondary school at Sycosin Academy, which is a super prestigious boarding school out of Cambridge. He was raised in Kensington. His whole family is abnormally wealthy-” Anderson reads from the documents, but Zayn cuts her off. 

“Could that have something to do with it? The wealthiness, I mean. Every single one of our victims here came from a wealthy family or had wealthy relatives, if not rich themselves. Maybe it’s some dude with something against money. He could be jealous, angry, or both. Or maybe it's something else entirely…” Zayn trails off. 

“What do we know so far about this guy?” Anderson asks. 

“He’s physically fit, for sure. Had to overpower them, even if he had a gun. Most of his victims were relatively strong, as well, they would have tried to fight back,” One of the detectives answers. 

“He has to be sadistic, to an extent. It might not be sexual, but he definitely enjoys hurting them.”

“We can’t really tell how old he is, though. His work is incredibly neat. He’s careful and smart, knows exactly what to do. He probably plans for a long time, considering there’s been a long period between each kill. It was over a week in between before, now it's 5 days.”

“Let’s hope this pattern doesn’t continue and he starts killing every 3 days or even 2 days, in the future,” Zayn chimes in.

“Well, hopefully we catch him before he has the chance.” 

“Not at this fucking rate.” 

“Ease up, McDaniel,” Zayn snaps at their oldest detective. 

Zayn is the lead detective and head of the criminology department at New Scotland Yard P.D. There has only been one murder in his technical jurisdiction, but most of the police departments in England recognize his task team as skilled in major crimes. For example, in 2016, they solved a national-wide string of arsons by figuring out that each location’s coordinates were code for his dead wife’s name. 

His team is a bunch of detectives and officers that Zayn hand picked 10 years ago, in 2010. It wasn’t as official back then as it is now, it was mostly just a ragtag group of people that Zayn respected and thought would be able to work well together. They do have a name, his group. They refer to themselves as the NSY Major Crime Unit; however, most people just refer to them as “Detective Malik’s team”. 

Zayn was young back then, one of the youngest in the place. Only twenty-two years old, it took him a long time to earn the respect of the department. Once he did, though, he proved himself time and time again by offering incriminating suggestions and ideas about the behavior of the criminals. He’s a firm believer in not judging criminals harshly, even if they deserve it. Going into a case fueled by rage and prejudice, will cloud people’s judgement and not allow them to make the right call. 

  
  


McDaniel shrugs and sits back in his chair. He mumbles a small “sorry” and looks back at the pictures. 

“He hasn’t tried to insert himself in this investigation, whatsoever. It doesn’t seem like he cares about us at all. Most criminals who kill randomly like this, do it for attention from the media. He hasn’t done anything to indicate that he wants information about his work to get out to the general public,” The group nods in agreement with Zayn. 

“Or it's not random. There could be a connection between the victims that we haven’t discovered yet. That would explain why his focus seems to be on making a message towards the victims, not us,” Anderson suggests. 

  
“What do you mean?” 

“The messages. On the wall, I mean. They don’t seem to be directed at us at all. Like the first one,” She walks over to the pictures, “It says ‘REGRET’. It could mean something about that the victim should regret something or regret doing something, not that he himself regrets the kill, which was our original thought.” 

Zayn nods along, thoughtfully. “So the second one is ‘Why?’. Why what? What is he asking? Who is he asking? The victim?”

“I doubt it,” The youngest detective, Collins, speaks up, for the first time. He’s Zayn’s personal favorite on the team, his mind is astonishing. Collins has been quiet this whole time, analyzing the new case file on his own. “This all leads back to something. Each message is directed at someone, or a group of people. To me, it looks like he’s saying this: I want you to regret, and then why did you do this? For the first two, at least.”

“What about the next four?”

“We thought he was saying that it was our fault, the police I mean, for ‘You caused this’. But that might not be the case. He could be talking to someone else. Not us, not that specific victim. Someone else,” Collins explains. 

“But we are the only ones who see the wall. No one is allowed on the scenes. How would their intended recipient get the message?” Anderson asks. 

Collins scratches his head, thinking for a minute, and then Zayn can physically see the idea reach the tip of his tongue. “Maybe he takes a picture of it and sends it somewhere. We could see if anyone received a picture like that.”

“Don’t you think they would have gone to the police already? I would if I received a bloody message on a wall.”

“They could have written a message. ‘Don’t show this to the police or it’ll be you next’. Something like that, you know,” He says. 

“And the fourth?” Zayn asks Collin, wanting to hear his take. 

“‘Too young’. That was the one we were spending like a whole day on. We agreed it meant he was too young when something happened- like molestation or abuse, along those lines- or that that victim was too young. Henry was only 28. The youngest one, until now.”

“There are two paths here. That is what’s difficult. If he’s guilty and remorseful, all of his messages could be towards himself. Regret, asking himself why, saying that he caused this, saying that this victim was too young,” Zayn pauses for a second, “But…these last two messages, five and six, they are both directed at someone else. He even names them. Psycho and Azoff.”

“We still haven’t figured out why he misspelled ‘psycho’. All signs point to him being very smart and careful,” Anderson says, redirecting the conversation. 

“I honestly think it was a mistake. He’s writing in blood, it’s not like he can just take a giant eraser and rewrite it. Not to mention, psycho isn’t the easiest word to spell,” McDaniels offers. 

“This guy confuses me. At one moment, he’s torturing them, playing games, etc. The next, he’s neatly cutting precise slashes into their chest, or taking his time on the wall to make the writing perfectly thick and readable. The only mess he makes is some broken glass and the stained blood,” Collins ponders, “It’s almost like… oh my god.”

“What?”

“Think about it,” He scoffs, like he’s mad at himself for not realizing earlier. 

Zayn takes over, understanding where Collins is going, “There’s two distinct behaviors. There’s no way all of this can be executed by one single man. Winning six fights with men and managing to restrain them, without leaving your own blood at the scene? It’s impossible.”

“If I’m with you, Malik and Collins, you’re saying it’s a team?” Anderson asks. 

Collins nods and answers her. He pushes his glasses up and leans forward, “I think so. It would explain a lot. Also, the sixth, most recent, writing on the wall. He said ‘together’ probably referring to a group of people. I think we should run with this idea.”

“Their relationship. It must be good. They have to have a process and dynamic that works. Partners or groups that slow each other down and fight, don’t accomplish six kills,” Zayn adds. 

“What do we know about partners? Let’s start there, since it’s the most likely,” Detective Chase, the cop that brought the case to them, suggests. 

Collins takes the lead, reciting almost like he’s reading from a textbook, “79% of the time, there is a clear dominant and a clear submissive. It’s usually one that either mentors or tricks the other into killing with him. Could be a father and son, a husband and wife, friends with age differences, etc.”

“And the other 20%?”

“Pure, equal partners. With a shared goal.” 

“Their behavior doesn’t suggest any sort of extreme power difference. They both have their own responsibilities and they execute them. Also, it seems like they are both equally angry, like they share whatever drove them to do this. That could be why they work well together,” Zayn explains, receiving nods in agreement from the group. 

“We don’t have much here about their relationship. But, it seems like we have partners. What kind of partners? I have no idea,” Chase says. 

“Probably either best friends, a couple, or family.” 

“If it’s a couple, which role would the woman have?” McDaniels asks. 

“Hey. Let’s not assume anything,” Zayn snaps sharply. 

McDaniels gapes at him, confused, “What?”

“They could be gay. Two men.” 

The room falls into an awkward silence, everyone struggling to find what to say after that. McDaniels mumbles something under his breath, that Zayn can’t make out. 

“They could be gay, yes. But, it is more likely that they would be friends,” Anderson finally breaks the silence. 

Zayn nods slowly, “I guess.”

He feels off after that. He almost regrets saying anything, but he knows it is a possibility and he has to make sure his team is prepared for anything.

“So, we’ve established it’s more than one guy, they are equals, they love killing, and… what else?”

“They don’t care about the public or the police. They have their own personal agenda they are trying to fulfill, and they don’t care who sees. I wouldn’t be surprised if we never cross their minds during the day. They probably figure out a routine that keeps them hidden from us, and then never think about the police again.”

“We won’t be able to find them until they make a mistake. Or the victimology becomes clearer. And I’m not sure either of those will happen any time soon,” Chase slumps in his chair. Most of the team follows suit, sighing heavily and groaning. 

“Motive.” Zayn stands up abruptly. He walks over to board and faces the group, “We have to go off motive. That’s the only way we’ll get any progress until they kill again.”

He points at each picture, “We can find it through the victimology.”

Waiting for a response, Zayn turns back to the group. When they don’t say anything, he continues, “They can’t be surrogates for someone, considering they all look very different. I think we’ve all come to the conclusion that there is a connection between them that we haven’t found, yes?”

They nod. 

“I’m assuming most of these people are family members or friends of the real targets. They make their victims suffer without even touching them,” he continues. 

“By killing the people closest to them.”

“Exactly. It keeps us off their trail. They probably kill the colleague of one of their targets, the brother of another, and an uncle of another.” 

Chase groans, “Then how the hell are we supposed to find them?”

“‘Fuck you Azoff’.”

When the team stares back at Zayn blankly, he explains, “That was the last thing they said. That was personal,” he pauses for effect, “The last kill was one of their real targets.”

“We can work with that. If we can figure out why this Jeff guy made them so mad, we can probably figure out exactly _who_ he pissed off. Thus, leading us to our killers,” Anderson concludes. Zayn looks over to Collins who seems lost in thought. 

“Collins?”

He sighs and addresses the group, “If I’m being honest, guys, we don’t know much. We’ve made a lot of assumptions and half-cocked conclusions. If we go down this path- serial killer partnership set on revenge, on people like Jeff specifically- we might get stuck. We could be completely off. Have to keep our minds open, even if it takes longer.”

“We have to try something, right? We can’t just wait around for the next kill.”

McDaniels swears under his breath, but loud enough to gather the attention of the group, “We don’t have a choice. There’s no telling what could go wrong if we press too much with hardly any leads,” he swears again, “We ain’t got no choice but to wait.”

“So we’ve got this serial killer duo- that we don’t even know for sure is a duo- that kills specific people but we have no clue how they’re connected.”

Chase gets up, then. He storms out the door and Zayn knows he’s frustrated. He’s known the guy long enough to know he’s gonna go smoke outside and probably walk down the street to the coffee shop. 

The thing is, though, they are all frustrated. So fucking frustrated. It’s been six bloody kills and they haven’t come to any firm conclusions. It’s just “maybe” this, “maybe” that. They don’t even have any idea what to look for in a suspect. 

It’s felt hopeless like this before, Zayn remembers. One time they were working a case, a man that got off on leaving his victims on the brink of death and then dropped them off at the hospital. They all ended up dying within 10 minutes. He had some sort of obsession with watching the doctors attempt to save them, but failing every time. He evaded the police for years. Zayn and his team found the guy, found his address, but he was gone by the time they got there. 

He fled the country, disguised himself at airports, practically created a new identity. 

Zayn found him, though. Three years later, through a newspaper ad. Very long story. 

“Giving up isn’t gonna do anything. They aren’t gonna stop, not at this rate. And even if they do, we can’t let them get away with it. This isn’t something we can procrastinate and hope goes away. This is part of the job. It’s lives on the line. I understand this is difficult and frustrating, but we’ve solved worse,” Zayn encourages, shaking Anderson’s shoulders for effect. 

“I’m going to go look over victimology, see if I can find anything,” Collins says, swiftly picking up his things and leaving the room. 

“Malik?” Anderson looks up at him. 

“Hmm?”

“I think we need fresh eyes,” she concludes. 

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. Last time we got stuck, they brought in Detective Payne from the FBI in America. He helped us find clues we missed. Do you think we should call him?”

“Um,” he coughs, “Yeah, call him up and see if he can fly over or assist over the phone.”

“Yes, sir,” she nods and leaves the room. 

Zayn looks over to see the only people left in the room, McDaniels and another detective named Fantozzi, hunched over the papers and speaking in hushed, focused voices. 

“Anything?” he asks as he slides into the chair next to them. 

“Not yet, no, we’re just looking over the time and place of the murders to see if there’s a pattern we missed. So far, it just seems like they pick a victim and go to their house each time. So, they don’t plan out where they kill,” Fantozzi tells him, pointing to the map they created. 

“What about the time of the kills?” 

Fantozzi nods and pulls out a different paper. “These two were in the afternoon at some point and these four were in the middle of the night. The times range from around probably 4 or 5 p.m. to somewhere between 1 a.m. and 6 a.m. The medical examiner said there’s no way to tell exactly when.”

“Okay, so why do they kill in the daylight sometimes and then in the middle of night other times?” Zayn presses. 

McDaniels shrugs, “We don’t know.”

“What if the time of the kill depends on where they come from?” Zayn suggests. 

“This country isn’t too big. The largest distance between houses is only 3 hours. If they wanted to kill everyone at one time, they would manage to do so. In my opinion, they don’t adjust to anything. They force everything to work in their favor, including the time of their kills,” Fantozzi tells them. 

“So, basically all we know is that they are angry and these are revenge kills?”

“Malik, all we know is that both of them are sick and twisted and, frankly,” Fantozzi sighs and looks up at him, “I’m fucking scared of what they’re capable of.”

  
  


…

  
  


“Martha, pink or red? You have to choose.” Louis watches Harry hold out the two bottles in front of the old lady. 

“Hun, they are the same thing. It’ll look the same,” she says, smiling at the curly-headed boy behind her. 

“No, no, no. One will be lighter. Your hair is light so you’ll see the difference easily.”

“Sweetie, I don’t care,” Martha chuckles. 

“Mar, you’re gonna just have to choose one, he’s not gonna stop asking,” Louis chimes in from a couple feet over, where he is currently massaging blue hair dye into the scalp of an elderly man named Chris. The obnoxiously bright light of the nursing home makes it quite easy to see his work. 

Harry looks at him and pouts. “He’s not wrong.”

Martha laughs again, “Okay, Harry. I pick pink.” She looks over at Louis’ work and smiles when she sees the head of blue. “Me and Chris will look like cotton candy.”

Chris hears his name and seems to snap out of some daze. “What?” he asks, his voice deep and raspy. Pretty basic old guy. 

“I said....” Martha drags out the word, probably used to having to repeat herself around him, “We’ll look like cotton candy with our hair.”

Chris coughs abruptly and then returns a crinkled smile. “Oh yeah, yeah.”

Harry and Martha both roll their eyes at the exact same time. Louis finds it incredibly endearing. 

He squirts a handful of pink goo onto his hand and rubs it around the top of Martha’s head. She only has short, thin hair shaped into a pixie cut. 

Louis smiles to himself and turns his attention back to his own project. “So, what games are we playing this afternoon, Chris?”

“Marg and Kristall said they wanted to play bingo.” 

“Okay we can-” Louis starts, but Chris cuts him off. 

“But I wanna play that frog game we played last week.”

“Poison dart frog?” 

“Yes, that one. I like that one.”

Louis is about to answer when he hears a squeal from the direction of his boyfriend. He looks over and Harry is trying to contain his laughter, his face bright red and his hand hovering over his mouth. He probably would have slapped his palm over his mouth if not for the hair dye on his hands. 

He’s confused by Harry’s expression before he notices it. Clumps of pink-stained strands of hair are piled on Martha’s head, creating bald spots and splotches. 

Louis looks back at Harry and raises his eyebrows and drops his jaw, forming an “o”. They both make eye contact and immediately burst out laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Martha asks curiously, her yes still trained ahead. 

“Martha, love, it seems as if your hair boy didn’t read the warnings on the box,” Louis explains, smiling widely at his boyfriend, who is currently about to pass out from laughing. 

She straightens up and reaches her hands up to feel her head. She grabs at her scalp, screaming when she collects the sticky clumps and feels them in her fingers. “Harry Styles! My hair!”

Harry somehow manages to breathe out apologies through his laughter. Louis thinks he probably feels bad and this is his way of dealing with the uncomfortable situation. 

Martha mutters a stream of “no, no, no” as she pulls more and more hair out. She doesn’t seem too upset, her face still soft and kind. 

Harry is doubled over at this point, clutching his stomach. He walks around the chair so he’s in front of Martha and drops to his knees. His laughter fades and he rests his hands on her knees, apologetically.

“I’m so so sorry.” He’s genuine, but his face is still bright red. 

They’ve known Martha for two years, so there have been many instances where she is upset with them, like a grandma with two teenage boys. It’s usually Louis that she’s reprimanding, though. Harry and Louis are supposed to be helping her and the other elderlies, not the other way around. 

“I guess I did ask for the pink…” she sighs. 

“No, this was my fault. Here let me try to help, come on.” Harry extends his hand and Martha takes it, pulling herself out of the comfy rocking chair. Harry leads her over to the kitchen and tells her to put her head in the sink. He runs the water, washing out the dye. 

Louis just realizes his hands haven’t moved an inch on Chris’ head the whole time he was watching Harry. He doesn’t even seem to notice, though. He just keeps staring at the TV in the corner of the room. It’s playing some American soap opera and the volume is off. There’s not even subtitles. Yet, Chris’ entire attention is focused on it.

_How the fuck is this entertaining?_ Louis really doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand half the people in this goddamn nursing home. But, I guess he’s not really expected to. 

This job is one of those things that Louis absolutely loves only because Harry dragged him into it. He ended up finding himself smiling all the time and even looking forward to going twice a week. He can’t tell if it's because he loves what Harry loves, or because it’s genuinely fun. Probably both. Either way, he’s currently surrounded by fifteen elderlies, three crappy TV’s, and one boyfriend. 

He can remember the conversation where Harry asked him to volunteer at the Cambridge Nursing Home for the Elderly. It was some random Saturday and they were both walking back to their dorm from dinner. They passed a huge bulletin board in the lobby that had about 50 flyers. For some reason, Harry’s attention was grabbed by a smiling grandma on one of the flyers near the top and he immediately snatched it and read it, excitedly. A week later, he was physically throwing Louis into the car and kidnapped him into coming with him. They played bingo on the first day, of course. Louis thinks he may have loved it since then. 

“Do you even know what’s happening, Chris?” Louis asks him and chuckles sweetly. 

Chris grunts and shrugs a bit. “Yeah.” His voice is hoarse. He clears his throat and continues, “Christina wants to break up with her fiance ‘cause she just found out he was sleeping with her best friend. She ran to the bridge and threw her engagement ring into the water. But then, she confronted her best friend and she told her that her fiance, well ex-fiance, is in the hospital. Apparently, he followed her to the bridge and jumped in to save the ring as some sort of grand gesture. Broke a bunch of bones and almost drowned, I guess. What’s going on right now is that Christina and April, her best friend, are in the hospital room talking to the fiance.” 

Louis squints at the TV, just now making out the machines and the bed. The brunette, Christina, is talking rather dramatically at April. 

“Now, Christina is yelling at April to get out of the room.”

“How can you tell what they’re saying?” Louis wonders, still rubbing in the dye. 

“Reading lips and context clues.”

Louis nods and hums in amusement. He’s about to ask Harry how it’s going over in the kitchen, but Chris speaks again. 

“Son,” he says to Louis, his voice expecting. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you done with my hair? I want to chat.”

“Oh, yeah yeah, I’m done. Let me just take these gloves off.” Louis furrows his eyebrow in slight confusion and walks over to the kitchen to put the gloves away.

Harry’s still washing Martha’s hair at the sink and Louis laughs loudly, “Baby, you’re gonna give her neck problems. If it’s not out yet, it’s not coming out.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but whispers to Martha that he’s turning the water off. He grabs a towel and pats her head down. Louis smiles fondly and brushes by him, lingering his hand on the taller boy’s waist. He leans against the counter on the other side of him and Martha turns her head to smile at him. He returns the favor and then turns to Harry, again. 

“Chris wants to ‘chat’,” Louis says to him. Harry lets out an audible snort and raises his eyebrows, eyes still trained on Martha’s head. 

“I want in on that. I love his talks.”

“You’re welcome to join me, but you gotta hurry up, I can’t keep him waiting.” He finishes putting the clear, plastic gloves back in the box. He heads back over to Chris, patting his boyfriend on the shoulder as he passes him. 

“Your boy toy. Bring him,” Chris tells him when he hears Louis return. 

“He’s coming,” Louis assures him. “And he’s not my ‘boy toy’. He’s my boyfriend. It’s serious, Chris. Believe it or not.”

Chris snorts obnoxiously and Louis swats him on the back. “Quiet. I’m getting a chair.”

“No, son, sit on my lap.”

Louis’ eyes widen and Harry just happens to have been walking over when Chris made his absurd request. 

“Good idea, Chris. Go on, Lou,” Harry beams at Louis and Louis wants to put dynamite in his dimples and rip the smile from his face. 

“Oh- okay,” he says, nervously. He throws his legs over the side and sits his ass on the arm of the recliner. Chris wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him closer. Harry stands above them, clearly holding in a laugh. 

“You boys remind me of my childhood.” Harry nods and sits on the other arm of the chair, stretching his arm behind Chris’ head. 

“How so?” Louis presses him on. 

“You’re happy and pure. Just enjoying life together.”

Louis looks up at Harry and actively watches his smile fade. They lock eyes and Harry gives him a look that says “ _I wish_ ”. Louis purses his lips and gives him a small smile. 

When they don’t respond, Chris continues, “In secondary school, I had this best friend. His name was Johnny. Johnny boy was probably the happiest person I’d ever met. I was a rough young man. Father was mean. You know the type. Johnny boy was like a light in my life. I would go to school and he’d be there, laughing, smiling and always telling some story. He’d have a story to tell about his day at 6:30 a.m. He’d talk about his cereal he ate before school. It was always amazing cereal. You always need someone like that in your life. Someone who could make cereal an interesting story. He was so bright and so joyful all the time. Johnny boy brightened me. And he was an amazing friend to have, as well. He’d listen to your problems and get serious when you wanted him to be serious. I miss that kid. You’d like him.” 

“What happened to him?” Harry asks, sounding genuinely curious. 

“He got arrested for murder.” 

Harry and Louis snap their heads up to look at each other, both of their jaws dropped. 

“What do you mean? Did he actually do it?”

“Yes.” Louis waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. 

Harry runs his fingers through his hair, his curls bouncing back on his shoulders. “Why?”

“No one knows why people do the things they do, kid.”

“But there’s always a reason. No one is born evil. People make people evil,” Harry argues. 

“Johnny was happy. Then, he killed someone. That’s all I know,” Chris shrugs and clears his throat. 

Harry looks up at the ceiling and takes a breath, “Someone hurt him.”

“Look, kid. Sometimes people just become shitty. I’m sure he had his reasons, but it doesn’t make it any less wrong.”

“Murder, you mean?” Louis chimes in. 

“Yes. You’re taking someone’s life. If you’re still alive to do it, then it’s not eye for an eye. It’s eye for a heart.”

Louis coughs loudly and Harry’s eyes become glassy, still focused on the fluorescent light on the ceiling.

“Well, don’t you think sometimes people have the right to get revenge? Just because they didn’t kill you doesn’t mean they didn’t take your life,” Louis says, cocking his head at the old man. 

“The best way to show someone you didn’t hurt them, is to rise above it. Do something great. Be better. Do you know what I mean, son?” 

Louis nods, but asks anyway, “What if they aren’t watching you? What if they don’t know what you’ve done?”

“Make them see.” He looks right into Louis’ eyes and nods to further his point. 

“That’s impossible,” Harry says, suddenly, “It’s impossible. You’d literally have to have your name printed on every single billboard in the world to get them to notice you. And you’d have to include a picture of your face because they wouldn’t even recognize your name.”

“H,” Louis whispers. He sees Harry’s cheeks get slightly redder and his eyes even glassier and he knows this isn’t good. So, he mouths, “ _fix it_ ” and Harry pops up from the arm of the chair and shakes his head. 

“You’re right, kid.” Chris pauses, “So that means, you have to do it for yourself. If you can’t do it for the other people, you have to prove to _yourself_ that you’re stronger.”

Harry nods. “Do you still talk to Johnny at all?” His expression is back to normal at this point, his voice steady and calm. 

“No, I visited him once. Back when he was just arrested, around 1970.”

“Why did you stop?” Louis asks. 

“He wasn’t the same. Not the same person at all.”

“What do you mean?” Louis was completely sure what that meant. He’d seen it before. 

“His light was gone. Stripped from him,” Chris sighs, probably remembering it. 

Harry makes a noise and Louis can’t tell what it meant until he speaks, “Why did you give up on him?”

“You boys ask a lot of questions,” Chris grumbles. 

“I like your chats, Chris,” Harry says, sitting back on the arm. 

Louis smiles when he sees Chris smile at that. “Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t like murderers very much.”

Louis gulps. 

“Me neither,” Harry states. “I have to pee.” 

Then, he leaves.

“Are you sure he was ever happy?” Louis questions, turning his attention back to Chris.

“Who?”

“Johnny.”

“I just said he was.” 

“But are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

He sounds offended. 

“Well, you just said he was bright. Not all bright people are happy.”

“If bright people aren’t happy, then who’s happy?”

“I’m just saying that people have facades. You may have known the bright side of him, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a darkness underneath that.”

“What do you know about darkness, Tomlinson?”

“More than you think.”

“Johnny was happy.”

“Then why did he murder someone?”

“He became unhappy.” 

“Or he was always unhappy.”

“No.”

“Who murdered someone?”

“What?”

“Who murdered someone?”

“Johnny.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Chris. It was the darkness.”

“There was no darkness.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he was bright.”

“Bright people don’t murder people.”

“No, son. You’re right. He murdered someone because he _became_ dark.”

“No, something just brought that darkness out of him. It was always there.”

“You didn’t even know him.” 

“I know how light works.”

“This isn’t physics class.”

Louis scoffs, “You know what I mean.”

“No, kid, I really don’t. And I’ve been on this earth for much much longer than you and pretty boy have.”

“82 years on this earth are nothing if you don’t understand darkness.” 

“I understand darkness.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You should talk to Johnny.”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh.”

“Did the darkness kill him, too, Louis?” Chris says, sarcastically. 

“It was probably old age.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Mature.”

“I am your elder.”

“Are you sure?” Louis smiles at him, the tension automatically lifted. 

“As sure as I am that Johnny was happy.”

“Okay, Chris.”

“He was.”

“Okay.”

“He _was_.”

“Am I happy?”

“Yes, you are.”

Louis is very grateful that Chris lost his ability to read the clues Louis is dropping after his 70th birthday. He just chuckles to himself. 

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m going to check on Martha and Shannon. Thank you for the chat, Christopher.” Louis hauls himself off of Chris’ lap and out of the chair. He passes the little living room in the other corner, where Martha and Shannon, another elderly woman whom Louis doesn’t speak to as much, are knitting in their chairs. 

“All good?” he asks them. 

“Yes, thank you, love.” Martha assures him. 

He nods and heads to the bathroom, where Harry still hasn’t come out of. He pushes the door open and finds the boy staring at himself in the mirror. 

“You okay?” Louis questions as he hops up onto the counter in front of Harry. 

“I always am.”

“You looked upset.”

“I don’t get upset.”

“Baby..” Louis reaches up and thumbs his cheek. 

Harry sighs and looks down at him, “Jeff said that.”

“What?”

“That I don’t get upset. He said that’s the only reason that they kept doing it for so long.”

“H-” Louis starts. 

“I could have avoided this if I got upset.” Louis searches his eyes for some clue as to what he should say to help, but he can’t find anything. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. And you _do_ get upset, just not all the time when it’s expected. And that’s okay. It just happens. It’s okay.”

They both know. They’re both very aware something is severely wrong with Harry. And after almost seven years of dating, they haven’t said a word about it. 

Louis’ done a few deep google searches. He remembers reading about the causes of antisocial personality disorder and was shocked when it didn’t just mean not fitting in with society. He took psych classes in secondary school and uni, but didn’t realize there were so many forms of personality disorders. 

Oh well. 

Louis pulls Harry into a hug and just holds him there for a few minutes. They’re both quiet. Louis sort of expects Harry to start crying. But he doesn’t. He’s stiff in his arms and standing tall. 

“Hug me back,” Louis whispers into his neck. Harry just grunts, so Louis reaches up and tugs on his hair. He immediately loosens up and sinks his body into Louis’. He smiles to himself, proudly. Louis’ never really questioned why he has to yank on Harry’s hair in order to get him to relax, but what works works. 

“I like you,” Louis says, louder this time. 

Harry giggles a bit, “What?”

“I don’t know. Just wanted to let you know that I like you how you are.”

Harry squeezes him in response, but still utters, “I like you, too.”

“Well we’re on the same page, then.” Louis can hear how stupid he sounds. 

“You act like we haven’t been on the same page since 10th grade.”

“It speaks volume that that page hasn’t turned,” Louis explains. 

“Don’t be corny.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes through a bright smile. And then, Louis smiles even brighter, because he realizes that this whole time he’s been hugging Harry, he hasn’t even thought about their past or the current (kinda dark) part of their life. He’s grateful for that. 

Harry’s the one to end the hug, pulling away slowly. Luckily, Louis doesn’t even have to protest because Harry leans in and attaches his lips to his own. The kiss doesn’t start sweet or gentle, at all. Louis can’t tell if Harry’s driven by lust, or if he’s just eager. Either way, Louis cups his face and pushes him into the opposite wall. 

“I hate...” Louis’ breathless, trying to talk in between Harry’s lips, “...mm… old people.”

Harry smiles into the kiss, “No, you don’t.”

He’s right, but instead of giving him that, Louis shuts him up by picking him up his hips and throwing his legs around his waist. He pushes him harder into the wall to help support his weight. Louis snakes his hand to the back of Harry’s neck and grabs a fist of hair. He pulls hard on it, yanking Harry’s head back and exposing his long neck. Harry moans obscenely before Louis’ mouth even touches his skin. Louis smirks and sucks a bruise right under his ear.

Harry’s fingernails dig into Louis’ back as Louis hikes Harry up further, to reach a lower angle on his neck. 

“We’re in a nursing home,” Harry manages to get out and Louis almost detaches himself from his skin to laugh at how deep his voice sounds. 

He does pull off a few seconds later to tease him, “I thought you liked making out in the worst places?”

“Not a _nursing home_ , Louis! I meant like around campus and at your mom’s house and stuff. Not _here_ ,” Harry whines, rather loudly. 

“Hush,” he says into his neck and then reattaches his lips. Harry mewls and throws his head back even farther, banging it onto the wall. Louis, then, abruptly pulls off and drops him back down. Harry slouches against the wall, so they’re both the same height for a minute. Louis locks eyes with him, “I’m disappointed.”

It’s comical how fast Harry starts freaking out, his eyes furrowing. Louis turns around and starts to walk out. He’s not actually disappointed, but it’s amusing to watch Harry get upset. As expected, Harry grabs his shoulders and spins him around. 

“Why?” he questions, his face frantic. By now, Louis’ learned how to hide his amused smile and he fakes a blank expression. 

“You’re always the one begging me to fool around in public,” Louis explains, still not showing how much he’s fonding inside, “Now that I want to, you go all vanilla on me.”

“But-”

Louis cuts him off, “By the way, _you_ were the one who kissed me. Not the other way around.” 

“ _You_ were the one who threw me against the wall,” Harry huffs and crosses his arms dramatically. Louis knows, for sure, that Harry is aware that they’re both playing around. 

Louis smirks and then sticks his hand out. Harry looks at it confused and then back up to Louis. Louis urges him on, so Harry grabs his hand and hesitantly shakes it. 

“There.” Louis releases the handshake and then swings the door open. 

“What?” Harry calls after him, and they both walk out back to the common room. 

“That seems to be what you wanted right? A peck on the lips and then a handshake? Do you want me to say ‘good game’ next time?” Louis says, still not turning around. He walks back over to where Chris is. He’s sleeping, now. Harry follows him, trying to defend himself while keeping up with his quick pace. 

“ _No_ , I just didn’t want Harold or Edward to walk in. You know they pee all the time, Lou,” he whispers into his Louis’ back, trying not to draw attention. 

Louis plops in a folding chair, against the wall, now facing Harry. “And _I’m_ saying, the you that I know, would have wanted Edward to walk in and see you like that.”

“I like Edward. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“The old you _also_ would have thought that Edward would appreciate the sight and therefore, he deserved it,” Louis raises an eyebrow. He crosses his legs and tilts his chin up, trying to resemble his mum when she was lecturing him as a child. 

“He knows me as ‘Pumpkin’, Louis. I’m his pumpkin! I want it to stay that way.”

“I’ll call you pumpkin if you want,” Louis offers. 

“That’s not my point. I don’t care about the name itself. I care about the fact that I’m Pumpkin. I’m _not_ ‘Desperate boyfriend who lets his boyfriend mark his neck and push him against the wall of a nursing home bathroom’. I’d like to stay as Pumpkin, please.”

Harry’ voice is small and sounds like he’s genuinely asking Louis to let him stay as Pumpkin. Louis can no longer hold back his amusement of his boy and lets out a beaming smile. Harry’s face lights up at that and Louis shakes his head, fondly.

“Fine,” Louis gives up. 

“Thank you,” Harry says, quietly and falls into Louis’ lap. He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and pulls his back into his chest. 

“You’re very welcome, Pumpkin.”

“Shut up.”

So, Louis does and just rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder. They stay like that for a while, all the elderlies either taking naps or chatting quietly amongst themselves. 

An hour later, they say their goodbyes and head back to their dorm to plan their next kill. 


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanna emphasize that i'm american so i know nothing about the english school system, so sorry if i fuck shit up. 
> 
> this flashback chapter is an intro into their past and you can start to get a sense of harry's personality before he met louis. 
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> p.s. don't imagine 2012 louis and harry its not actually them, they're much younger. but, i guess you can if you want. :)

**September 13th, 2012.**

**8 years ago.**

**Three weeks into Harry and Louis’ first year at Sycosin Academy.** ****

  
  


Louis is so fucking tired. And sweaty. You’d never think one of the most prestigious academic boarding schools in the country would have such a rigorous PE program. The room reeks of boy and the occasional whiff of “manly” body spray. Louis enters the bathroom section of the huge locker room. He stands in front of the full-length mirror and takes in his appearance. His hair is a floppy mess and sticking to his forehead. His bright blue eyes strikingly contrast his stained red skin. Louis dramatically fans his face with his hands, trying to get his cheeks less tomato-like. 

“Those tight shorts are riding up your ass, Tomlinson,” one of his third-year classmates snarks. The older boys with him chuckle and Louis just rolls his eyes. He walks past him and pats him on the back, condescendingly. 

“Why are you looking at my wonderful ass, Jeff?” 

His friends laugh ten times harder this time and Louis can hear them teasing Jeff as Louis walks to the showers. He enters a stall and Louis reminds himself to write a letter of gratitude to whoever funded the bathroom and thank them for allowing him to shower in peace and privacy. 

He peels his sweaty clothes off of his skin and places them on the bench. The rowdy banter between the other boys is muffled when Louis switches the shower head on. He grins at the newfound peace and quiet. He slips his pants off, his final piece of clothing, and steps under the water. He purposefully set the temperature to cold, so he’s not surprised at that, but rather the way the freezing, fast-falling water burns his skin. His body is so flushed and aggravated that the water hurts so much, he has to step out. He may or may not also have screeched and ran away from the water like it was out to murder him. 

He turns the water up, returns to his place under the stream, and moans happily. He tips his chin up and shakes his hair out. 

With three sisters, an overprotective mum, and a draconian dad with un _reason_ ably high expectations, Louis’ grown accustomed to using his shower as an escape. A moment where everything else in the world vanishes. It’s just him and the water.

Louis remembers when he wrote a 500 word essay on it in primary school. The teacher had asked them to write about their “peace”, so rightfully so, Louis chose to explain the wonders of cleaning oneself in a shower. He didn’t know how the fuck to explain how it’s “peaceful”, so Louis just wrote about how he didn’t have the words to explain the “pure joy and hope for the world” it brings him.

He got an ‘A’, though. Of course, he did. It’s Louis. 

Louis keeps his eyes shut under the water as he reaches behind him to grab the shampoo. He pours it on his hand and begins to hum the tune of the Pitbull song they were listening to during basketball. 

“Grab somebody sexy, tell him ‘hey!’”, Louis sings, tapping his foot and dancing a bit. “Give me everything tonight. Hey! Give me everything-”

“ _Tommo_ ,” someone next to him complains, dragging out his name. They bang on the wall and Louis flinches. He must’ve been singing way louder than he was aware of. He mutters a ‘sorry’ which he knows no one can hear, but feels obligated to anyway. 

“It’s catchy?” He offers, loud enough this time. His neighbor doesn’t respond, so Louis just grimaces and shuts up, deciding he’s embarrassed himself enough. 

He rinses out the soap and shampoo and shuts the water off. He shakes out his long, thin hair out like a dog and wraps his towel around his waist. 

Reentering the main section, he gathers his things and quickly puts his uniform back on, as to not draw too much attention to his apparent nudity. 

The tight, navy blue pants stick to his damp legs and the tie is way too tight, but Louis wants to get to the library and study for his Old English exam. He swings his extremely posh messenger bag on his side and runs his fingers through his hair, forcing it into an acceptable-looking middle part. 

He bumps into the door frame on the way out, and scratches the bag. He feels a wave of short lasting sadness when he inspects the damage. He personally doesn’t give two shits about the bag. But, his mom saved up a shit ton of money to go to Sycosin ever since Louis was placed into the “gifted” program in Year 3. 

“I want you to be able to send your kids to a uni in Hawaii if they please. You go do something with your life, Lou. Something wonderful,” his mum had told Louis when she surprised him with the acceptance letter. 

So, he scrubs the scrape his finger like his life depends on it and actually gets most of it off. Satisfied, he smiles contentedly and pushes open the gym doors. 

By now, three weeks into the school year, Louis’ learned when to avoid the main hallway. The Dean loiters outside his office, inspecting the students as they walk by. 

He pulls out his Iphone 4 and clicks on the screen. 

_1:32_

“Somewhere around 1:45, he comes out and I swear he looks like he’s on the hunt for children to eat for dinner,” Louis remembers a kind, sixth-form boy telling him in algebra. 

Louis contemplates not heading in that direction, to the library, to avoid learning about his “stare” for himself. But, he rearranges his priorities and trudges down the hall. The walls are lined with navy blue lockers with gold plates. Stained glass replaces the ceiling, the artwork impressive and prestigious. It’s the largest hallway in the whole campus, maybe the largest one Louis’ ever seen. 

For some reason, all Louis can think about as he walks towards the library, is how amazing it would feel to experience a ceremonial graduation clap-out in this hallway. Parents cheering, families hugging, teachers congratulating. The feeling of walking out of here, knowing you succeeded at Sycosin and now you’re going to Oxford or Cambridge, or some other incredible school. Louis wants to experience that sense of accomplishment and pride for himself. He just needs to walk away without any stupid drama or boy problems or annoying exes. To meet someone and be happy and bright. 

God, what’d he give for that. 

The library approaches quickly. The enormous wooden doors grow even taller as Louis gets closer. He soon reaches it and decides to dramatically pull both doors open and step inside with his chin high and chest out. 

It’s his very first time in the library, so he sort of expects to be welcomed by twinkling fairies or pixie dust or magic elves. 

Instead, though, the vast, intimidating, room is completely empty, besides one boy at a table in the middle. 

Rows and rows of tall bookshelves line the walls. And Louis almost laughs out loud when sees the giant ladder leaning against one of them. He’d seen pictures of these fancy libraries, but never expected to set foot in one. 

Louis figures he could sit anywhere. Literally anywhere. Hundreds of open chairs and couches. But, for some reason he can’t explain, Louis approaches the lone boy. 

His back is facing Louis, so all he can make out is a long, brown-haired, curly mop on his head. He also immediately notes how perfectly ironed his uniform is. 

Louis hasn’t been purposefully quiet, but the boy doesn’t seem to hear him. Louis shuffles his feet against the carpet to try to get his attention so he doesn’t startle the poor boy. Even then, the boy keeps his head down and his mouth shut. Giving up, Louis just speaks into his back, “Um… hello?”

No response. He circles the table, so he’s across from the curly boy now. 

“Can I sit?”

The boy doesn’t look up or even acknowledge Louis’ existence. His eyes follow the text on the book, concentrating on each individual word like he’s trying to discover a hidden code within his biology textbook. Louis stares at him with his eyebrows furrowed, waiting for permission to slide into the seat across from him. He sighs, just barely audible enough that he hopes the mop-headed boy doesn’t hear his slight frustration. He figures nothing will happen if he doesn’t take the next step, so he pulls the chair out and slowly takes a seat. 

“May I,” the boy says, his voice deep and entrancing. He flips the page, obnoxiously loud.

“May you… what?” Louis says, fully sitting in the chair. He looks right at the curly boy, wishing his eyes had a string attached to them so he could latch onto his chin and force him to look at Louis. 

“You’re physically able to sit, Louis. The question is ‘may I sit?’ not ‘can I sit?’.” He flips the page again, and Louis doubts for a second that he’s even reading the material.

Louis just gawks at him, and waits for the boy to laugh and say he’s kidding, but he doesn’t. He just keeps flipping the stupid textbook pages and muttering to himself. 

“How do you know my name?” he decides to ask. 

“You’re hot.” He turns the page. “I watch you sometimes in World History.” 

Louis thought he couldn’t be any more thrown off by the increasingly confusing boy. Ever was he wrong. “What do you mean, you watch me?”

“Hot people deserve to be watched,” he explains bluntly.

He turns the page. 

“Will you _look_ at me?” he snaps, in a tone he knows will make him do what he says. 

Wrong. 

He doesn’t even flinch, “Talking to you will distract my studies. I need to study in order to do well on my first exam tomorrow. If I don’t do well, I’ll disappoint. I don’t want to disappoint, Louis. So, no. I’m not gonna look at you.”

Louis huffs and leans back in his chair. He takes the time to admire the tall, lanky boy in front of him. He’s the same age as Louis, both of them first-years, but he swears the kid’s chubby cheeks and full lips makes Louis feel like he’s at least three years older. His hair is wild and so _fucking_ curly. 

“Is your hair naturally that curly?”

“Yes.”

He nods, even though he knows the kid can’t see him. His eyes rank lower on his body and he notices the expensive watch on his wrist. 

“How’d you afford that?” he asks, instinctively reaching for it. He expects Harry to draw his hand back and out of reach, but he doesn’t move a muscle. Louis thumbs the area between the glass and the band, appreciating the small crystals and tiny writing on the side. Even without glasses, Louis can make out **Harry Edward Styles** etched onto the band. 

The boy, _Harry,_ glups ever so quietly and says, “My father.” 

“He bought it?”

Another gulp.

“Harry,” Louis says, his voice insistent. Louis can’t help but flinch and pull back at how fast Harry snaps his head up. He watches a flash of panic cross his eyes, but soon vanishes back into his calm expression. It seems like someone entered Harry’s mind and pulled a fire alarm and then released it right after. He slowly tips his head back down to the book and drops any sign that he acknowledged that Louis even said anything. 

That is, until he speaks again, “Leave.”

“What?” Louis’ embarrassed at how genuinely upset his own voice sounds. 

Harry sighs loudly and shuts his book. He throws it into his messenger bag and wraps it around his shoulder. Louis stares up at him as he stands, pushing his chair in. 

“Where are you going?” 

He should follow him, but he’s learned in the five minutes he’s known this boy that it would most likely be a bad idea. 

Harry actually does look back at him, this time. He locks eyes with Louis. “You know my name.”

“So?” Louis questions, as Harry spins around and heads toward the library doors. 

“The people who know my name leave me, Louis Tomlinson.”

And then the doors open swiftly, a rush of cold air flows into the library, and Harry’s gone.


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains smut. 
> 
> if you decide to not read (you'll miss a lot of important aspects to their character development), you can stop reading after they get home from the pub. but please please please pick back up after or you'll miss an important thing they reveal. the smut is... intense. everything is consensual between them and they trust each other completely. (it's topdom!louis)
> 
> click on this if you're worried about anything: [smut tags for chapter five](https://alwayslarry07.tumblr.com/post/641689989459181568/smut-tags-for-chapter-five-of-omtdd) . if you're not worried, then just skip this so you don't spoil anything.
> 
> happy reading!

**March 19, 2020**

**PRESENT**

“Fuck you!” 

Harry and Louis are snuggled up on the bed, laptops in each of their laps. Harry’s practically laying on Louis’ chest, and Louis is ultimately confused how he can do anything at that angle. He turns to look at the boy’s screen and sees a “failed” message. Harry aggressively smashes his keyboard, frustrated with his studies. He turned to him and looked up right into Louis’ eyes. 

“Can we go out tonight?”

“I don’t know...” Louis said, hesitantly. 

“It’s _Friday,_ ” he says insistently, “Everyone goes out on Fridays, Lou.”

“Not you,” Louis corrects, “Not _us_.”

Harry opens to mouth to protest, but Louis continues, “Plus, we have midterms. So, no.”

“Fine,” Harry says and Louis is satisfied, until Harry pushes himself off the bed and pulls his shirt off. “I’ll go out by myself.”

It’s a trick, Louis knows that. He knows _Harry_ knows that Louis’d never let him go out by himself. That he’s just using this to get Louis to go along with him. He groans, “I hate you,” and throws a pillow at the boy. Reluctantly, he gets off the bed. 

“I did some research and worked some stuff,” Harry says, opening his phone and showing it to Louis. On the screen, is an intricate list of... “Phone records?”

“Yeah, I called some people. I was listening to conversations in business management and trying to see who was throwing parties and hanging out at the pubs and stuff,” Harry explains as Louis scrolls through the records. There’s at least 20 phone calls, all within 2 seconds of a minute.

“You called people? And said what? And why are these all like a minute exactly?”

If it were anyone else, they’d get agitated at Louis’ increasingly questioning tone, but instead Harry just calmly explains, “I wrote a speech.”

“A speech?” Louis asks, snapping his head up to look at his boyfriend. 

“Well, I wasn’t just gonna call and beg t-”

“You wrote a _speech_? To ask about which pubs people were going to tonight?” Louis interrupts him, gawking at Harry in disbelief. 

Harry opens his mouth to defend himself, but then sighs and just says, “Yeah.”

Louis grabs the phone from him and presses play on one of the calls, putting it to his ear. He recognizes Harry’s voice immediately. 

_“Hi, my name is Robert and I’m calling to ask about any plans that are being made between the fourth-years to go out tonight.”_

There’s a pause, the person on the other end probably trying to comprehend the absurd request. But, then another voice, deeper than Harry’s comes through the phone.

_“Uh…. Yeah. Okay. Why are you asking?”_

_“My grandma,_ ” Harry says, his voice starting to choke up, “ _... she… uh… she passed away this morning, in my arms.”_

Louis looks up at Harry, his brows furrowed questioningly. Harry just stares back at him, with a huge smile. Louis mouths, “Really?” and Harry nods. 

_“Oh. Dude, I’m- uh, I’m sorry? I guess I’m just confused why you wanna go out to party when-”_

_“I just need to drink right now. I_ need _to party. Please man.”_

_“Oh yeah, sure alright. Me and the lads are going to Peter’s down on 5th tonight. You’re welcome to join, bring mates, whatever. Again- I’m… uh, real sorry.”_

Before Harry has time to answer, the other lad hangs up. Louis slowly pulls the phone away from his ear and hands it back to Harry. Harry’s still beaming, and Louis just stands up off the bed, and heads to the bathroom, ruffling his boy’s hair on the way. He rolls his eyes, not in annoyance but out of admiration, when he’s out of Harry’s sight. 

“Wait, Louis,” Harry calls from back in the bedroom as Louis sticks his toothbrush in his mouth. He bends backwards dramatically, keeping his feet planted, so he can see Harry. 

“Hmm?” he grumbles out, mouth full. 

“You didn’t hear the rest of the calls.”

“I thought you said the same thing every time?”

Harry shakes his head, “I switched between two. Depended on the tone and amount of dismissal from their opening response.”

Louis stands straight up again, his back beginning to hurt. “Okay…? What was the other one?”

“I told like a third of the people that I was getting my kidney removed tomorrow and I couldn’t drink anymore after that and I wanted one last hoo-rah.”

Louis spits the paste into the sink, “Hoo-rah?” he chuckles. 

“Yeah, hoo-rah,” Harry confirms, “Isn’t that a thing people say?”

Louis shakes his head as he wipes his mouth and scoffs, “Yeah, if you’re talking to the people at the nursing home.”

“Whatever.”

“Let me guess, all those people told you they weren’t going out tonight?”

“Shut up.”

Louis takes that as a yes.

There’s literally zero reason for Harry to lie, is the thing. Asking someone for popular pubs for the evening is not an odd request, and most people would be happy to answer. Louis would be confused, maybe even weirded out, if he wasn’t so used to this. To Harry. So, it’s whatever. 

“Fine, then. I guess we’re going to Peter’s tonight.”

  
  


….

  
  
  


Harry and Louis don’t go out often. Honestly, “often” doesn’t even begin to explain how little they interact with society. Ever since he’s known Harry, he’s noticed that Harry completely keeps to himself. And it’s not like he’s shy, not at all, in fact. When Harry has to get in front of his class to present something, he’s confident and one of the most persuasive people he’s ever met. But, it’s when it comes to the little interactions it takes to make friends or to gain the respect of his peers, that Harry lacks. He once told Louis that he doesn’t even see the point in meaningless friendships. He said he finds his mind the “ultimate companion” and all other opinions worthless. 

And when you add together the fact that 99% of the people who reach out to Harry, are utterly repulsed by him, it doesn’t go well for his status in the student atmosphere. He’s off-putting, way too honest for his own good, and shamelessly open about his opinions. Not exactly the best person to be friends with. 

The only reason Louis’s still here, after all this time, is because he wasn’t repulsed. He was intrigued, shockingly. Even _he_ realized how odd it was that he was drawn to Harry. Maybe it’s because Harry’s the only person Louis’ ever felt intimidated by. Or maybe the way that Harry felt out of reach. A challenge of sorts. Throughout their first year at Sycosin, Louis remembers, he spent most of his time watching where Harry would go, where his hiding spots were. 

By watching him, Louis learned that Harry doesn’t go home. Ever. But no one would have even noticed that, other than Louis, because of the way he lurked in the shadows. And even _that_ Louis didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. How someone so alarmingly attractive with the most alarmingly odd personality, manages to hide in the background and not enter anyone’s world except for his own. And Louis’. 

Maybe Louis’ wouldn’t have noticed it either, or forgotten, if Harry hadn’t shown up at the door of his dorm one day with all of his belongings. 

“I got kicked out,” he had revealed. To which Louis responded, “Why’d you come here?”

Harry had smiled lightly at him and said, “You’re hot.”

Louis had chuckled, just as he had the first time they met in the library and Harry said the same thing. “Why’d you get kicked?”

“He said I cry too much.”

Ever since then, they’ve never lived anywhere else but together in one room. 

Now, though, they’re on their way to the pub, jamming out to the radio in their range rover. It’s about 9:00 pm, the sun is down, and the street is lively. College-age students roam the street, half of them drunk or about to get drunk. It’s an unnerving sight, really. Street lamps light up the street, the dimness of them contrasting with the blinding neon lights shining from store and restaurant signs. The entire sight is depressing, Louis thinks. He’s completely up for an adventure, but he’d definitely rather do it somewhere less… _gloomy._ He keeps driving, though, because as he was doing his hair and getting ready to go, he found himself actually excited. Excited to get out and spend some time partying with people that aren’t his boyfriend. As wonderful as Harry is, he’s still only one person. One incredibly interesting person. 

They’re about 2 minutes out, and multiple pubs line the streets. 

“I see it,” Harry says, as they turn a corner. A bright white sign stretching over the sidewalk, attached to a red brick building reads **Peter’s Pub**. 

Louis parallel parks about a block down the street when he sees an opening. Harry hops out of the car before Louis even turns it off. Louis quickly follows behind him, and admires him from the back. Harry’s wearing the tightest, black, skinny jeans Louis’ ever seen. He paired it with a long-sleeve, silk, white collared shirt. His tall black boots accentuate his long legs and Louis really, _really_ wants to hike them up over his shoulders. But, right now they’re gonna integrate with people. 

Harry pulls open the restaurant door, and Louis instinctively wraps his arm around his waist. They’re quickly greeted by a hostess. 

“Welcome, gentlemen. For two?” she asks, a warm smile on her face. Harry darts his eyes around the room, and then turns to her. 

“We’re gonna sit at the bar. Hopefully make your life a bit easier,” Harry offers, and Louis snorts at him when he condescendingly winks at her. She nods gratefully, though, and moves aside to let them enter. 

As they walk over to the other end of the pub, where crowds of students gather around high-top tables, Louis whispers in his ear, “What’re you doing?”

“I read somewhere that if you charm the workers, they’re 65% less likely to take your keys at the end of the night,” Harry explains nonchalantly. 

Before they reach the table of chanting fourth-years, Louis drags him to the wall and urgently whispers back, “I wasn’t gonna drink.”

“You always drink.”

“We need someone to be sober so we can drive back? I was gonna let you have your fun.”

Harry smirks at him, “So you’re fine killing people, but you won’t drink and drive.” Harry tries to push past him, but Louis isn’t having that. He grabs his wrist, pulling him back right in front of Louis.

“We have three more people to kill, Harry Styles. I’m not getting arrested for _this_ before we can finish. Just drink. Don’t worry about me. And for fuck’s sake, stop manipulating everyone,” Louis says, his voice insistent and demanding.

“I don’t manipulate. I just... get what I want,” Harry smiles and shrugs. Louis finally lets him go, and trails behind him as he walks over to the group. 

“We spoke on the phone.” Harry taps twice on a larger, muscular guy’s back. The lad immediately turns towards them, and his face brightens. Louis can already tell he’s drunk out of his mind. 

He slams the large glass of beer in his hand and throws both of his arms up, “Richard!” he yells, and pulls Harry into a hug. Harry squeezes him back even tighter and says, “Josh! We made it!”

Harry hates hugs. 

Josh releases the hug, but not before aggressively patting Harry on the back at least 10 times. Louis almost expects Harry to squirm away, but he must recognize that in order to get the group to party with him, he has to give in. Harry may hate affection from strangers, but he _loves_ getting what he wants even more. 

Harry twirls one of his curls between two of his fingers, a telltale sign that he’s anxious. Harry doesn’t even know he does it. For Louis, it’s the only sign that his charming persona is not actually him. That underneath the complicated, completely made-up stories and the giggling and the hugging, there’s a hurt boy. The one that knocked on his door 8 years ago. The one that kills people because he wants to. 

And Louis’ not perfect. Not in the slightest. He’s impulsive and reckless and way too ruthless to charm anyone. The only thing going for him is his intelligence. And his intelligence isn’t the stereotypical math genius, chemistry nerd, wanna-be-neurosurgeon, it’s his ability to change anything about him so he can get things done. And sure, he’s fucking smart in the wanna-be-neurosurgeon way too, but he prides himself on his interpersonal and intrapersonal intelligence. He doesn’t even need to fake empathy, like Harry does, he can just _create_ it. He can battle his recklessness and his need for violence with fabricated reasonability and control. That’s what makes him a _great_ fucking serial killer. What makes them both great fucking serial killers. And Louis knows he’s not modest about it, but where would he be if he considered modesty?

Josh smiles at Harry, again, and then turns to Louis, who’s happily observing from a foot behind him. “Who’s this?” he slurs, drunkenly. 

“This…”, Harry starts, and then quickly surveys the group. Louis doesn't know for what, but whatever he finds causes him to say, “.... is my _friend_ ,” he exaggerates, “Conner.”

Louis nods in response and then leaves Harry and the group to go sit at the bar. 

He would be concerned about all the fake names and fake stories, but he knows and Harry knows, the whole pub is too drunk to care or remember in the morning. So, he contentedly slides into an empty stool and turns his hips so he’s half facing behind the bar and half facing Harry. 

As surprising as it may seem, Louis is perfectly fine with this. He finds it incredibly amusing, mostly because he knows Harry finds it amusing. He enjoys watching Harry try to manipulate people into feeling sorry for him, or worshipping him, or both. Most people enjoy the actual _partying_ aspect of going out, but not Harry. Harry’s party is this. And anyway, even if Louis felt a bit out of place, he’s still happy with this, because once Harry gets his kicks, Louis’ll take him home. And maybe take him apart. 

So he’s completely happy with the current situation. 

A young bartender approaches him. She’s probably only a couple years older than him. Her hair’s in a long, blonde ponytail, and her slim black tank top makes all her features stand out. She’s sweaty and flustered when she asks Louis for what he wants to drink. She’s most likely exhausted from the hectic night, so she doesn’t ask for Louis’ I.D. Which is good, Louis hates to leave a trace. Even though he's not drinking anyway. 

“Club soda, please.”

“Designated?” she asks, the question flying off her tongue as she scoops ice into a small glass. 

“Yep,” he replies, not much emotion in his voice. 

She laughs and slides his “drink” across the counter. “So where are the people you’re designated to drive?” 

Louis swivels the chair and the bartender leans over next to him, so they’re both facing Harry’s group. Harry’s sitting at the end of the table, already made his way into shots territory. They’re all laughing and shouting their heads off at whatever Harry’s saying and Louis smirks. “That one.”

He doesn’t even need to point. Harry’s the center of attention. Every single person at the table is looking at him, laughing at him, or nodding their head. The girl notices immediately, “Why aren’t you over there?”

“I like to give him room to charm the pants off those drunk motherfuckers. It’s funny because at the end of the day, I’m the only one who really knows him. The one he’ll end up going home with. So, I don’t mind. Plus, he’d be embarrassed to tell overdramatic stories if I was sitting there,” Louis laughs and then almost laughs again when a guy pulls Harry up to give him a sympathetic kiss on the cheek. 

“You’re dating, then?” the bartender says, pulling Louis out of his fond mesmerization. 

“Oh yeah. Long time.”

“You seem very trusting.”

“It’s only really ever been us. As long as I can remember. He’d be an idiot to ruin that,” Louis explains and swivels back to face the bar all the way, “And Robert’s not an idiot.”

Louis can play along too.

“What’s your name?” he asks the bartender. 

“Julia. And you?” she asks politely. 

“Conner,” Louis replies, like it’s nothing. Because after so long, it honestly is. Nothing. 

“I like you Conner,” she smiles, “I’ll be back.”

Before she can walk away though, he reaches over and grabs her by the wrist. Not aggressively, but warmly, “I don’t think we’re gonna be here very long.”

She nods, and Louis can sense she’s confused, but she waves goodbye anyway and goes to another customer. 

Sure enough, Louis was right. 

He once again swivels to face where Harry is again. The obnoxious laughing has seemed to die down, and now they’re just chatting away. The attention has shifted to a normal amount on Harry. He’s talking to some red-headed man, while others chat amongst themselves. Louis watches the interaction very carefully and immediately notices when the red-head’s body language changes. He tries to subtly shift away from Harry, turning towards the others. 

Once having captured the attention of everyone in the group and eliciting drunk and dramatic reactions from them all, now everyone’s gaze has left the curly boy. They all drink slowly, laughing amongst themselves. Harry seems to try to speak again, but then gives up. He finally looks up at Louis, who catches his eyes. Louis smiles at him softly as he sips the final drop of his drink. He then slides it across the bar and slips a 10 dollar bill underneath it. He sighs and gets up, heading to the door. Harry quickly follows after him and no one even notices him leave. 

“What’d you do this time?” Louis asks as they push the door open. His tone isn’t accusing or annoyed, more like… accustomed. The cold breeze of the night hits them in the face, whipping their hair back. 

“Ed told me he was single and I guess I insulted him. His hair is ugly.”

“You don’t always have to tell people with ugly hair that their hair is ugly. I’m sure he was already aware, Harry.” Louis slips his hand into Harry’s, thumbing his hand comfortingly. 

“I thought he was asking why he was single,” Harry defends, his voice calm, though. Louis laughs at him and Harry just laughs back. Louis pulls him into a hug and Louis smiles when Harry hugs him back because Louis’ not just someone he's trying to charm. He means this. And he’s already charmed Louis by just being himself, anyway. 

“He just wanted you to tell him that he didn’t need a girl. That he was a sexy fuck no matter what, and if no one saw that, then they’re blind,” Louis says into his shoulder. 

“You’re a sexy fuck, Louis.”

“I know,” Louis pulls away and pecks Harry on the lips, “But I’m not single.”

….

  
  


Louis drove them home and it seemed like Harry’s slight somberness about the unfortunate outcome of the night passed, and his drunkenness took over completely. Louis had to turn down the radio every 20 seconds because Harry kept turning it up to max volume. He sang at the top of his lungs, even if he had no clue what the words were. He’d make up his own lyrics and try to match the melody as much as he could. 

He parked the range rover in their usual spot, right underneath their dorm room, which is on the second floor. 

Harry stumbled through the lobby, clutching onto Louis to just stand up straight. They usually take the stairs, but Louis reasoned it would be impossible with the gangly drunk boy in his arms.

The elevator dings, indicating they arrived on the second floor. The hallway is pretty empty besides a few kids roaming around the bathroom and some other doors open. It’s quiet too, besides the constant stream of giggles coming from Harry. Louis clasps his hand on Harry’s mouth suddenly, and holds it there until they get to their room. 

Harry squirms out of Louis’ strong hold to open the door. He slips inside, Louis trailing behind, much more calmly. He closes the door behind them, and clicks it locked. 

“Sorry about tonigh-” Louis starts to say, but when he turns back around, Harry’s on his knees right in front of him. 

He’s not even looking at Louis, though, is the thing. He clasped his hands behind his back and is now staring straight at Louis’ crotch. 

He chuckles, “Well I guess, you’re not sorry.”

Harry completely ignores him and Louis’ not even sure he heard him. He scoots a bit closer, his mouth only an inch away. “Please.”

And it’s not even a sexual, enticing “please”, it’s just entirely humorous. The way Harry just talks directly to his cock, as if it’s not even part of Louis. 

Louis throws his head back in a loud laugh, which seems to snap Harry out of whatever drunk, horny daze he was in. He finally looks up at Louis and sticks his bottom lip out. He sits back on his heels and unclasps his hands. 

“You’re drunk. You need sleep,” Louis decides and walks around him. Harry stands up and follows him. 

“You say that everytime. And yet everytime you end up fucking me, anyway.”

“Harry-”

“So, let’s just skip that part? It’s faster for everyone.”

“You’re very convincing,” Louis deems as he sits on the bed, “But, you’re also very drunk.”

“I’m not. Not anymore. I’ve gotten over it. See, look,” Harry turns around and walks in a straight line, one foot in front of the other, towards the door. He’s stumbling a little bit, but Louis decides Harry knows what he's asking and they trust each other, so it’s fine. Louis laughs at him quietly and stands up, following behind Harry. He reaches the door and cheers, “See, I’m fine!”

Louis stands right behind him and Harry still doesn’t know he’s there. Harry finally turns around though, and just as he does, Louis shoves him against the door. “You’re fucking adorable.”

Harry beams back at him, his eyes still a little surprised by Louis being right behind him. He gets over it, though, when Louis looks directly in his eyes. He can’t see his face, but based on Harry’s reaction, Louis senses that he looks properly serious. 

“You wanna do this? Fine. But we’re doing it my way. Yeah?” Louis says and spins them around, stumbling them over towards the bed. 

“Yes,” Harry breathes and collapses on his back. Louis stays standing up, just admiring the way Harry’s hair splays out on the pillow and his eyes are eager and desperate. Harry instinctively grabs onto one of the rungs of the headboard, restraining himself before Louis even touches him. 

Louis only has a certain amount of self-control. When there’s a handsome boy, who Louis happens to already be whipped for, spread out on your bed, on the verge of begging, his control is tested to the extreme. 

He slides his shoes off quickly. Louis doesn’t even remember when Harry took his off. Maybe he wasn’t ever wearing any. Whatever.  
  


He crawls over to Harry and grabs his wrists before he even connects their lips. He pins them down into the mattress, effectively sliding Harry down so he’s completely beneath Louis. 

“You gonna be good for me, tonight?” Louis asks in a teasing tone, and before Harry can respond or even register his question, Louis answers himself, “Of course you are,” and reaches down to kiss him. 

Louis slides his hand down Harry’s chest all the way to his waist. His teeth nibble ever-so-lightly on Harry’s lips just as he taps the pads of his fingers along Harry’s clothed cock, grazing and teasing on two ends. Harry doesn’t disappoint. He responsively bucks his hips up into Louis’ hand, which gives Louis the opening he longed for. He snakes his hand up to Harry’s shirt and goes under it, simultaneously pushing Harry back down into the mattress, rather roughly. Harry whimpers in the kiss and Louis continues dragging his hand up Harry’s torso, instinctively tracing his butterfly. He pinches and squeezes randomly while rubbing circles with his palm. When he reaches Harry’s pecs, he finds them incredibly tense and flexed. He reasons it’s just Harry’s body’s response to the stimulation and the anticipation. Louis pulls his lips off of Harry’s, just enough to breathe, “relax” into Harry’s mouth. He reaches a bit and tweaks his nipple to further his agenda. 

Harry, however, doesn’t immediately loosen like Louis expected him to. He stays tight and the tension doesn’t release, not at all. Louis’ about to retry when Harry suddenly wrangles his own wrists out from Louis’ grip, cups his face, and pulls him in for an urgent kiss, shutting Louis up before he could speak.

His hands linger on Louis’ face, thumbing his cheek, as if somehow reassuring Louis that nothing’s happening. 

Or maybe to distract Louis from what is happening. 

Either way, Louis gives up his efforts to get Harry to relax. He then grabs _Harry’s_ face with both of his hands, deepening the kiss even further. Naturally, Harry’s hands then travel to Louis’ back, squeezing and closing the tiny bit of space between them. 

They’re practically on top of each other. Louis no longer has any elevation since he’s not pushing himself up by pressing into Harry’s wrists. Their legs tangle together, and elbows fly everywhere. 

It honestly never gets old, the snogging thing. Louis absolutely _adores_ Harry’s mind blowingly pink and full lips. And the way Louis has to work to feel the intimacy of Harry through his clothes. Whatever it is, Louis wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

That is, of course, until it’s compared to what naturally follows. 

Louis’ worked himself up, turned himself on enough, that he decides to take it up a notch. 

To catch the taller boy off guard, Louis suddenly detaches himself- and his tongue- from Harry’s face and lips to attack his neck. Without warning, he sinks his teeth into the pale, milky skin and brushes away Harry’s curls with his nose. It’s a bit harder than he intended, but effective, because Harry fucking _mewls_ beneath him. 

Louis explores the center of his neck, to his jaw, all the way to his earlobe, biting and sucking like Harry’s skin is a fresh piece of white paper just asking- or in Harry’s case, _pleading_ \- to be marked up. Louis tugs on his outer ear and smirks when Harry groans in that beautiful voice Louis loves. 

His body and mind are so wrapped in the dainty ear in front of him, that he can’t resist getting as close as possible and whispering right into his eardrum, “Have you been bad tonight, love? Got shut out, hm?”

It’s a normal thing, really. For Louis to say that or something else with the same purpose. His reasoning wasn’t to surprise Harry or anything, just to elicit the same reaction he’s experienced for years. 

Which is why Louis is struck utterly frozen, verbally and physically, when Harry abruptly puts his hands on Louis’ chest and skillfully flips their positions. He snatches Louis’ forearms on the way, and pins them to the mattress, trapping Louis under him. 

Louis’ about to smirk teasingly, until Harry looks right into Louis eyes. His own are focused and determined. 

“No. I was good,” he says blatantly, his voice even and determined. 

And no, that’s not at all what Louis meant and definitely not the reaction he wanted. 

Harry’s response isn’t even sexual in the slightest. His tone is serious, he’s not being purposefully bratty. 

Hence, Louis’ very thrown back and completely confused. 

But see, normally Louis would ask him what the fuck that was, as would any normal person in a normal situation. But, unfortunately, considering the circumstances, Harry’s reaction, as non-sexual as it was, still turned Louis on in the most sexual way possible. And when you’re knee deep in a sinking pool of lust, thought and reason fly out the window. 

Completely. 

“Yeah? My good boy. Did your best.”

Harry seems satisfied with that, and loosens his grip. Louis decides as hot as was to see Harry flustered, he wants control back. So, Louis waits a second until Harry’s eyes are filled with desire again and not panic, and then flips them again. 

Louis’ used to everything. Any odd situation he’s put in with Harry, he knows how to handle. There’s always something new, though. Just a bit different. The last time Harry got this defensive was when Louis asked him why he never went home for the first time. Louis never brought it up again. 

Louis’ sort of lucky it happened during sex, he thinks. It’s easier for both of them to brush it off and attribute it to horniness. Which is exactly what Louis plans to do. 

Harry’s fucking _filthy_ and Louis doesn’t know if he’ll ever get over it. As the years passed, as he began to trust and open up to Louis more, the kinkier Harry got. Which that itself is a good thing, a _great_ thing, but Louis’ more happy about the reasoning behind it. Harry’s never been truly himself around anyone besides Louis, much less discover _new aspects_ of himself. So, he’s pretty much honored. 

Along with his new discovered kinks, Harry found himself to be incredibly submissive. It was pretty early on, and Louis wasn’t exactly surprised by the mindset he achieves, but more that he _allows_ himself to go there. Something’s different about Harry in bed. Almost like it’s the most genuine, most trusting aspect of his life.

It didn’t happen right away, though. The first two years they dated, Harry was hesitant to do anything. He wasn’t exactly _opposed_ to the idea, just… hesitant. Very hesitant. And Louis knows why. Of course he does, but that doesn’t make it any less meaningful for him that Harry eventually did open up, in every way possible. 

Louis decides he wants to explore every aspect. 

He trails his hand down Harry’s chest again, this time not stopping at his waist, and sliding his fingers underneath Harry’s boxers. Harry tilts his head back and releases a low moan. Louis avoids Harry’s cock and just pulls his pants down to his knees in one swift motion. Harry’s breath hitches, presumably at the sudden chill, and his cock springs towards his belly. Louis doesn’t even know when he got the chance to get hard, but Louis lowers himself on it. Louis’ still dressed, but he wants Harry naked for him. 

“Shirt off,” he orders and then sinks his mouth on Harry’s cock. Harry’s fingers spring to life, trying to unbutton his shirt as quickly as possible, while Louis sucks him off. And Louis is teasing. His goal isn’t to do anything except make Harry’s head swim and to tease him into submission. His tongue flicks over the head just as Harry pops open the last button. 

“Fuck…” Harry moans and starts to slide his shirt over his shoulders, but Louis stops him. He pops off Harry’s dick and grabs Harry’s wrists. He slowly, teasingly, raises them above Harry’s head and uses his other hand to slide his arms out of the sleeves. He runs his hands all over Harry’s arms and Harry looks up at him with fucked out, glassy eyes. Then, once Harry’s completely out of the shirt, Louis uses one hand to press both of his wrists to the headboard. 

“Don’t move,” he tells him. And he’s not worried Harry will, he just says it for Harry’s effect. 

Louis climbs off of him, and drops to his knees by the bed. He reaches under and pulls out his favorite box. Inside is an extensive assortment of light bondage gear, every type of sex toy out there, and a million, random, half-empty bottles of lube. All of which is paid for by Harry’s parents’ money. And Louis finds that beautifully ironic. 

He doesn’t have a problem with keeping Harry waiting for him, in fact that’s one of his favorite things, but he hurries because _he_ can’t wait. He spots the black, silk blindfold, and some simple silver handcuffs. 

When Louis stands back up, Harry looks down at the items and then back up at Louis. He looks like he’s stifling a moan, and just says, “Please, Daddy.”

And yeah. That’s a thing. For Harry, at least. It’s not that Louis’ entirely _opposed_ to the idea, he just isn’t as… comfortable with it… as Harry is. It’s not the role of Harry's daddy that’s unappealing to Louis- in fact he already is completely- it’s just the _name_ . It disturbs the tiny part of his brain that owns his guilty consciousness. It’s practically a constructed area, a skill, a feeling that Louis’ brilliant mind convinced him would be helpful to generate. Nevertheless, it’s activated, just enough to throw Louis off. He lets Harry do whatever he wants though, of course he does. Louis would let Harry call him anything he wanted, if it made him more wrecked and _begging_ for Louis. For Daddy. 

Louis can’t exactly pinpoint just what about Harry’s father makes him hesitate, even for one breath, when Harry calls him Daddy. Maybe it’s the fact that Louis knows it’s something rooted in Harry. Something in his childhood manifested itself into this kink. It’d be very different if it were just something Harry discovered he liked and got off on it along the way. 

But no. Harry’s been breathing “Daddy, please” through wretched moans since he was 17. 

Consequently, over the many years, Louis inevitably learned how to brush it off and even encourage it sometimes, against his will. 

“Patience, baby. You want the blindfold, hm?” Louis straddles his hips again and smirks down at Harry. He nods fervently and shuts his eyes. 

Louis covers Harry’s eyes with the silk and reaches around to tie it off in the back. Harry’s hair curls around it, almost like his head as adapted to the blindfold. Like it’s ready for it. 

Harry taps the headboard with his fingers, trying to subtly indicate to Louis that he wants the handcuffs. 

Louis knows he can’t tease Harry by holding it in front of him, so he just obnoxiously locks and unlocks them. Harry’s eager smile turns into a pout after a while. 

“Put them on,” Harry says. Louis just stares at him. He doesn’t reprimand him right away, but just waits to see what he does. Louis can see Harry’s brows furrow under the silk, “Please?”

Louis doesn’t worry about his expression considering the state of Harry’s vision, but he keeps his voice even and stern, “It doesn’t matter how nicely you ask, Harry.” Louis drops the handcuffs on the bed and grabs Harry’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger and tilts it up, “You just don’t ask.”

“I’m sorry… just please. I’ll wait.. Just-” Harry spits out. Louis drops his chin and picks up the cuffs again. He grabs one pliant wrist at a time and threads them through the cuffs and then secures it to the headboard. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” Harry breathes. It comes out through a small moan and his face lights up when he tugs and can’t move his hands. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively. He’s actually completely endeared and turned on by the boy in front of him, but Harry doesn’t need to know that. 

“Daddy?” Harry asks when Louis doesn’t say anything for a while. 

“What, baby?” he says, much more warmly this time. 

“Touch me, please.”

“No.” Louis smirks at him.

“Wha-”

“I’m gonna fuck your face. But first… I wanna try something new,” Louis decides, as if he hasn’t been planning to do this for as long as he can remember. He crawls up to Harry’s ear, and whispers, “What’s your safe word?”

“Red,” Harry says immediately. 

“Good boy,” Louis remarks, the praise rolling off his tongue. He climbs off of Harry and walks over to the closet. He takes his sweet time, dragging out the wait. He slides the hangers over and pulls back the wallpaper, revealing a hole in the wall. Inside is a small, sleek, silver box. Louis punches in the code, 032614, the day they started dating (Louis’ romantic like that), and the safe door pops open with a click. Inside the padded black walls lay six printed pictures, Harry’s engraved knife, and Louis’ silver pistol. 

He grabs the pistol and tosses it between his hands. He double, triple checks to make sure it’s still unloaded and quietly walks back over to the bed. 

Harry and Louis are a match made in heaven. If that heaven, for say, was a congregation of chaotic, overbearingly-kinky, gay dudes who get off on things they’d go to jail for outside the bedroom. 

Contrary to their killing style, push and pull, their sex life is a constant stream of push, push, push. And then when it seems like you can’t push the limits of your sexual amenability, you bring out your gun from the closet and hold it to the boy underneath you until he’s squirming and begging for release. 

With the two of them, absolutely nothing is off the table. It’s only ever been just Harry with Louis, Louis with Harry. So, inevitably, they get bored. And when Louis and Harry get bored, the crazy, border-line dangerous, magic happens. 

Harry’s probably the most up-for-the-challenge person Louis’ ever encountered. Any obscure suggestion that Louis dreams up, Harry’s always right with him, often even two steps ahead. When Louis stumbled into their high school dorm with a remote-control vibrator and a spreader bar that he bought on a whim at a shopping centre one day, Harry just eyed the objects, nodded, and laid on his back. At that point, that hadn’t used or even _discussed_ using anything besides what God gave them. And yet, Harry didn’t even hesitate. 

Louis just waits and watches Harry from the foot of the bed. His jaw is slack and he’s twiddling his fingers, most likely out of anticipation.

He looks so fucking beautiful like this. His hair is tangled and messy, his chest is rising and falling slowly, his tattoos are glistened with sweat, and his cock is hard as can be. 

Louis walks around the bed, so he’s standing next to Harry. Harry must sense him because he whimpers, “Lou.”

“Yeah, H. I’m back.” Louis straddles him once more, and reaches up to play with his hair. He carefully puts the gun on the bed next to him, and uses both hands. He pulls and pets his hair, eliciting high-pitched moans from Harry. 

After a bit, Louis slowly picks up the gun with his right hand and gently places it to Harry’s temple. Harry seems confused, but nevertheless seems intrigued. 

“What is that?” Harry asks, politely. 

Louis smiles to himself, and lowers his thumb. He cocks the gun, and whispers right in front of Harry’s face, “Guess.”

And Louis doesn’t know what to expect, honestly. Harry’s breath hitches for one second, and Louis waits for him to color out… but instead Harry gasps dramatically and then moans _obscenely._

“Daddy… fuck… me, my mouth… please,” Harry begs and even attempts to scoot his head _closer_ to the gun on his temple. 

“You like that, princess? Helpless for me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Louis has to stifle his own moans. He moves the muzzle of the gun through Harry’s hair, wrapping it up and curling it around the barrel. He tugs hard on one curl, and Harry lets out another whimper. 

“Please… please, Lou.”

“Okay, baby, okay.” Louis retracts the gun from Harry’s head and shucks his own pants off. 

“No leave it,” Harry says, referring to the pistol. 

Louis chuckles, “I gotta get my pants off, lovely.”

“Oh,” Harry responds and then when he realizes what that means, he says again, “ _Oh._ ”

Louis doesn’t hold back his bright smile. He gets his pants off completely and then his shirt follows. He throws them out of the way and then towers over Harry. He grabs his hard cock and guides it towards Harry’s mouth. He places the tip on Harry’s lips, a sign for him to open his mouth. 

And Harry does open his mouth, but not before he spits out, “The gun-”

Louis rolls his eyes and retrieves the pistol. He places it back on Harry’s temple and then feeds Harry his cock. Harry just leaves his jaw pliant, so Louis can just use it however he wants. 

Louis fucks his mouth, hard. His cock slides in and out of Harry’s sinful mouth and Louis doesn’t hide his groans at all. He’s loud and he’s praising Harry every two seconds. When words don’t feel like they’re conveying how well Harry’s doing anymore, he rubs the muzzle up and down Harry’s cheek. He pulls back for a second, to give Harry room to breathe, and Harry’s panting like crazy. He’s not oxygen-deprived, just so incredibly worked up and turned on, Louis knows that. 

“You’re doing so so well, baby,” he praises again, and slides his cock back in. Harry’s head occasionally bangs against the headboard with the force of his thrusts, hard enough to turn Harry on, but not enough to make Louis stop. He knows what he’s doing. 

Louis knew he wasn’t gonna last. Harry looks so _helpless_ and just ready to be used. The gun’s affecting both of them more than Louis thought. Louis’ always had a thing for power and control because of his gun, but never realized how amplified it is when it’s during sex. And the way Harry doesn’t even resist. He just sits there and takes it because he knows he’s absolutely under Louis’ authority. And Harry fucking loves it too, clearly. 

He thrusts a couple more final times, and then shoots his load down Harry’s throat. He sputters at the sudden flow of cum, but swallows it all anyway. Louis removes his cock and kisses Harry. He can still taste himself in Harry's mouth. He pulls away, leaving Harry chasing after him. 

Harry’s still panting. His voice is completely wrecked when he asks, “Is it loaded, Louis?”

Louis drags the barrel down to Harry’s throat and presses on the center of his neck. “Wanna find out?”

“No… no…” Harry whimpers. They both Louis’d never shoot, obviously, but it flusters him nevertheless. 

Louis drops the gun of Harry’s chest, almost teasing him. It’d be easy for Harry to grab it there, but he can’t because he’s restrained. Louis slides down Harry’s body, kissing his way to ass. He throws Harry’s legs over his shoulder and licks a wet stripe over Harry’s hole. “Then, don’t come,” he says, smirking and then plunges his tongue inside. 

Harry’s a whimpering mess. At every motion of Louis’ tongue, he’s moaning like a mad man. Louis feeds off his reactions and forces his tongue, deeper and deeper. He adds one finger next to his mouth and in one swift motion, pushes it into Harry’s prostate. 

Harry nearly screams and his whole body shakes. Louis’ worked him enough so the first press on his prostate has him a writhing mess. Louis would care about his neighbors, he _would_ , but he figures they’re used to this. 

“Louis… please, _please,_ I can’t,” Harry spews out. 

“You will.” Louis forces a second finger inside and presses relentlessly on Harry’s prostate. His tongue teases around the rim, while his fingers push deep inside him. Louis can physically feel Harry’s calves shaking on his shoulders, and he almost feels bad for holding him off, but he knows his orgasm will be that much better when he does let him. 

“I…” Harry tries to say, but it just comes out in broken moans. Louis presses his hands into the backs of Harry’s thighs, exposing his ass even more. Louis pulls his mouth out and replaces it with a third finger. He pounds it into Harry, no longer teasing at all, but just giving Harry constant stimulation. Louis has a better view of him now. He’s biting on his lip painfully hard, but he releases once he realizes Louis must be looking at him. His lower lip bounces free, red and swollen. 

Louis continues fingering him, not gently at all. “Hold it, baby. I know you can. Little longer.”

Harry nods and bites his lip again. Louis lets him, though, because he knows he’ll be yelling in a second. He thrusts his fingers in one more time and then pulls all three out completely. He pauses for a second and Harry gawks at him. 

And then, he smiles and lowers his voice, as dominating as possible, and says, “Come for me. For _Daddy_.”

Harry does. He comes completely untouched and on Louis’ command. He’s yelling a stream of “Louis…. Lou… Daddy…”. He seems to come for _forever_. His whole body is shaking and drops of sweat poor down his chest and arms. Louis just watches him, having to hold back his own whimpers at the sight. Harry seems to stop eventually and Louis picks up the gun from his chest and throws it somewhere out of the way. He unlatches the handcuffs and grabs his wrist, rubbing the life back into them. Louis crawls behind him and lowers the pliant boy into his lap. He unties the blindfold and throws it somewhere, as well. Harry’s pupils are blown preposterously wide and he’s looking up at Louis with a huge smile. 

It’s the first time Louis ever called _himself_ “Daddy”. Harry seems over the moon with this new development. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I did it for you.”

Harry coughs, “Sure.”

“Are you okay, though?” Harry came impossibly hard and Louis just wants to double check. 

“Yeah, yeah, I am. Very very okay.” Louis nods. “Louis?”

“Hm?”

“I want your cock.”

They’ve gone multiple rounds in one night before, of course they have, but Harry’s never seemed this fucked out when asking to go again. “You just-”

“Whatever.” Harry turns himself around skillfully, and quickly sucks Louis off. Louis grows hard again, by the combination of what’s happening now and what’s about to happen. 

“If you say so.” Louis pulls Harry off of him by his hair and pushes his head down into the mattress. They’re facing away from the headboard now. Harry arches his back and sticks his ass, out. That cheeky motherfucker. 

Louis doesn’t waste any time. He reaches over to the nightstand, fumbling with the drawer. He pulls a random bottle of lube out and hurried to pour it on his cock. He slides it in Harry’s still gaping, fluttering, pink hole. Harry and Louis groan at the same moment. Louis grabs his hips and angles them upward, so he can push his cock deeper. Harry still manages to be tight as _fuck_ around Louis. He’s clenching at every thrust, syncing them with his own moans. 

“Harry, shit…. You’re so tight. Love your ass, baby.”

“I love your cock,” Harry replies, his voice clear as day. Louis isn’t having that. He wants to make it so Harry can’t speak at all. He thrusts even harder, rocking Harry’s body. He reaches over and tugs on his hair, pulling his head up. Harry’s hair is just long enough to grip easily, but not too long that it hurts his neck too much. He pounds into Harry’s ass and yanks on his hair, simultaneously, creating a rhythm. 

As Louis’ about to come, he reaches under Harry and tugs his dick. Harry comes at the sudden contact, collapsing forward. Right after, Louis releases into his ass, filling him up.

  
“You done now?” Louis asks teasingly as he falls back into the headboard. Harry just lays there on his stomach, cheek pressed against the blue comforter. Louis quirks an eyebrow and then slaps his ass. Because why not. 

“Answer me. Are you dead?” Louis playfully laughs and lays on top of him. Harry giggles and Louis still feels relieved even though Louis knew he wasn’t _actually_ dead. Well, maybe for a second. They lay like that for a second, both fucked out of their minds, until Louis decides, “Let’s shower.”

Harry groans and shakes his head, as much as he can when it’s pressed into the bed. “Noooo..”

Louis reaches around and grabs his legs and drags them off the bed, “C’monnnnn.”

Harry lets himself be dragged but still dramatically pretends to stop himself by flailing his arms like Louis’ the monster under the bed. Louis laughs fondly at him, but Harry does eventually get up and walk over to the bathroom. 

Their shower pretty much included Harry just standing there rambling about something stupid while Louis washed them both. Harry was completely useless and complained that he was “sore”. It’s fine, though. Louis let him get away with that considering how good he was. 

They both threw on some random grey sweatpants and climbed into bed. 

Harry’s on his phone and Louis’ staring at the ceiling. Just thinking. 

“Harry?”

“Hm?” Harry replies mindlessly, still scrolling through whatever he’s scrolling through. 

“Do you ever think about how many lives we affect?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Louis pauses, thinking about what to say next. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t care.”

“Why not?”

Harry sighs and shuts his phone off. He turns to Louis and pats his cheek condescendingly. “Because nobody cared about me.”

“Half of these people are innocent. Just happened to be related to our targets. I was just thinking about it. I know this is our plan and everything but what if-... what if this isn’t right?”

Harry doesn’t answer right away. He picks his phone up and looks back at it. Louis’ about to give up and go to sleep when Harry speaks up, his voice quiet, “I was innocent.”

Louis purses his lips and tries to get Harry to look at him, “I know-”

“You said this is about revenge. It still is. Let’s just leave it at that?” 

“I’m angrier than you, Harry. But, only for the last 4 people-”

“You’re _angrier_ than me?” Harry snaps his head to look at him again. 

“No, okay that’s not what I meant. I just mean I care, too. I care about this, I’m angry about this, _because_ _I care_. That’s all.”

“Yeah.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Harry.”

“What?”

“I am angrier than you. I’m not just doing this for you. I’m doing it because I want to. Because of you. I’m allowed to be as angry as I want.”

“Just because you punch people and yell at them doesn’t make you angrier than me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Harry plugs his phone in and rolls away. 

“Goodnight,” Louis calls out to him a couple minutes later.

No answer. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood, guns, knives, heavy gore
> 
> enjoy!

**October 6th, 2014**

**Third year at Sycosin**

  
  
  


“One more. C’mon love,” Louis whispers in the sleeping boy’s ear. Harry shoos him off of him by pinching his thigh. 

“No, I’m tired of doing this,” Harry says finally, his voice groggy. 

“I know, I know, me too. But this guy has only been here for a week and he’s leaving soon. He’ll have a new perspective and maybe he’ll listen? It’s worth a try.” Louis stands up off their bed and tries to pull Harry with him. 

Ever since Harry moved in 16 months ago, Louis always wakes up first. He doesn’t know what makes Harry such a devil in the morning, but Louis’ personally dedicated himself to the job of waking his boyfriend up. He’ll make coffee or a personalized breakfast, or some days when Harry’s completely obstinate, he’ll just give up and throw Harry over his shoulder and put him in the bathroom. 

“Mmmm, no. He’ll be exactly like the rest of the counselors, you’ll see,” Harry replies. He flips himself so he’s laying on his back, instead of facing the wall away from Louis. His eyes are still shut, but Louis uses this opportunity to kiss him. It’s just a peck, so Harry doesn’t have time to push him away before Louis pulls back. “My morning breath.”

“That’s why I didn’t stick my tongue in, idiot. If you want me to, get the fuck up and go brush your teeth.”

Harry opens his eyes, they’re glassy from the morning and he blinks to adjust to the light. “Who says I want your tongue? Plus, you stink. Go shower.”

“I would shower, but if I leave, then you’ll just go back to sleep.”

“Exactly,” Harry smirks, but rolls himself out of bed, anyway. He runs his fingers through his curls as he makes his way to the bathroom. Louis stays at the bed, watching him. He’s shirtless and his back muscles accentuate as he stretches his arms out. 

“See! You _do_ want my tongue!” Louis remarks and Harry just flips him off, without turning around. 

Louis quickly, messily makes the bed, throwing the pillows against the headboard. He grabs his uniform, just as he hears the shower turn on. Louis mutters, “That cunt,” and jogs over to the bathroom. He swings open the door to find Harry ass naked with a toothbrush in his mouth, standing in front of the mirror. 

“I said I was showering! You’ll use all the hot water, you ass!” Louis says from behind him. Louis can see Harry just roll his eyes in the mirror. 

He turns around and leans against the counter. He looks at Louis and nonchalantly says (mouth full of toothpaste), “We can shower together.”

“It’s _tiny_ ,” Louis retorts. 

Harry just shrugs, “You’re tiny.”

“We’re the same height,” Louis says, crossing his arms. 

“I know, but… you’re like… tiny in spirit,” Harry laughs at himself. 

“That makes zero sense.”

“You play football.”

“So?”

“Short people play football.” Harry turns back around and spits out his toothpaste. 

“That’s not even true.”

“Look, are you gonna shower with me or not?” Harry asks as he opens the curtain and steps inside.

Louis won’t let him win. “No!” he exclaims and grabs Harry’s wrist, pulling him out of the shower. “Look! Ryan Gosling!” Louis says dramatically and points the other direction. Harry’s head snaps to follow his finger and Louis quickly pushes past him and steps in the shower. He shuts the curtain, just as Harry tries to grab it. 

“Oh, low blow!” he shouts at him and Louis smiles triumphantly. 

His smile fades, though when he realizes….

He’s still wearing his clothes. 

Louis groans loudly and snatches open the curtain once again, only to find Harry standing there with his own triumphant smile and his arms crossed. “Move over,” Louis grumbles and pettily pushes past him, knocking shoulders. 

Louis strips his own clothes off and throws them in the hamper, just as Harry yells, “I’ll be quick, babe!” and laughs, muffled by the sound of him under the water. Louis rolls his eyes and sighs, deciding he might as well just shower with the boy. He walks back over, naked this time, and steps in. Harry’s got shampoo over his head, so his eyes are closed, but he smiles at Louis anyway. “Glad you could make it.”

“Shut up, just shower.” 

Louis’ smiling though, of course. 

They’re out the door fifteen minutes later. Uniforms on, bags on their shoulders, and worried expressions on their faces. They make their way down the hall, towards their history class. 

“Meet me in the library at lunch and we’ll go talk to Mr. Lauder, okay?” Louis says, his voice hushed once they enter the large room. Harry nods nervously, so Louis lifts his books up to cover their faces and kisses him. “It’ll be okay.”

….

  
  


This new, temporary counselor’s office is, unbeknownst to them until now, on the complete opposite side of the school from the library. Most of the school is eating in the cafeteria, so the hallways are almost empty. They take a side hallway, where there’s absolutely no one roaming around, purely so they can hold hands. 

The people who actually pay attention to Louis and Harry, know they’re dating. It’s not a secret, it’s just… something they don’t exactly… _flaunt_. At least not in front of other people. Besides, if someone found out (and cared enough to do it), they could make them live in different dorms. So, they leave the PDA for when nobody is watching. And that’s fine, though. They have bigger worries than people knowing they’re gay together.

They find the average-size and common-looking door a few minutes later, on the left side of the hallway. Harry swings the door open as Louis admires the _Come In Anytime!_ sign that’s taped to the wood. Louis scoffs at that. 

He steps inside behind Harry. A man sits at his desk, glasses on, sifting through files and papers. The room is small, but not too small. Two sofa chairs sit facing the desk. Pictures and books line the walls on either side. 

Louis’ just about to say hello and knock when the man speaks up, not even looking at them, “You must be Louis and Harry.”

“Wha-” Louis starts.

“You have quite the reputation here. I expected you. Sit.” He gestures to the two chairs. 

Harry slides into the one on the right, Louis on the left. Mr. Lauder stacks a pile of papers and sets them aside. He then takes his glasses off, and then finally looks at them. “What brings you here?”

“We wanted to talk about The Dean,” Louis says professionally, his voice as even as possible. 

“Ah. I knew it. You know, I looked over both of your files. It says that you’ve attempted to tell this story to various teachers and counselors _seven_ times? Is this true?”

“First of all. It’s not a story. It’s the truth. And second, yes that’s true,” Louis explains, just like he has so many times before. 

“Look, kid. You don’t need to keep doing this for Harry. You should go and just enjoy football, excel in school, go see your family, whatever,” the man says as if Harry isn’t sitting right next to them. 

“I’m right here,” Harry says, as if reading Louis’ mind. “And would you at least let us tell you what happened so you can hear it for yourself?”

“No, kid. It’s all written right here. Don’t waste your time, and certaining don’t waste _my_ time.”

“This isn’t fair! Just listen!” Louis yells. 

Harry sinks down into his chair and Louis scoots closer to the obnoxious-looking man. He’s got probably 40 moles and his hair is depleting and he’s got this ugly smile. 

“Boys, look. As much I respect you for at least keeping your story straight, this is ridiculous.” 

“You can’t just look at that stupid chart and make your own assumptions! You’re a fucking counselor, your job is to listen!” Louis slams his palms on the desk and stands up abruptly. 

“Tomlinson, sit down now. I can’t have a conversation with you if you just keep getting unnecessarily angry,” Mr. Lauder says, his voice condescendingly calm. 

“ _Unnecessarily angry?_ Are you serious?” Louis slides back into his seat, though. As angry as he is, all he wants, all _Harry_ wants, is for someone to listen. So he sits. 

“Yes. Clearly something is up. Both of your grades are slipping, have been for a while. If you’d like to talk to a neurologist or something, we can.”

Louis takes a deep breath. This is what these bastards say every time. Something about wanting to get Harry and Louis “checked out”. And everytime they tell them to get their priorities straight. 

Louis stays quiet, scared of what could come out of his mouth.

“Look,” Mr. Lauder says again, “You have zero proof. None. And this is a huge allegation that you’re making. I can’t take this lightly. So, please just get some neurological help or try to focus on your studies.”

“But Jeff-” Harry speaks up, but Mr. Lauder cuts him off. 

“ _Jeff_ has been spoken to on multiple occasions. He says he has no idea what you’re talking about and that you have something against him because he picks on Harry sometimes.”

Louis starts to say, “He’s lying-”

Harry then sits up straight, his face pointed and even. “Are things okay at home, Michael?”

Mr. Lauder snaps his head to look at Harry. “What are you-”

“I was asking because it seems like you have some unresolved rage. There’s something about you. Let me guess. You became a counselor because your….” Harry looks around the room at the pictures. “... wife told you that you were a terrible listener. You’re passive aggressive and condescending and horribly ugly. It’s a shame, really, that you have to pass your insecurities onto students. You travel from school to school only to shut down people who are hurting, just so you feel better. Or is it that you listen to super sad stories about kids’ family life so you feel better about the awful way you treat your own children. You’re _that_ pathetic, Michael.”

Mr. Lauder gawks at him and then shakes his head, “Get out of my office! Now, before I report you.”

They both scramble out of the chairs and out the door. Harry’s laughing his head off, and it rubs off on Louis. Soon, they’re both dying of laughter as they walk back to their dorm.

“I got football, see you later, babe.”

“Wait, Louis.” Harry grabs his arm before Louis can run off. “That was the last time. I’m giving up now.”

“Okay. We’ll get justice one day.” Louis smiles at him. “I promise.”

  
  


**March 21st, 2020**

**PRESENT**

Louis jingles the bedroom door, surprised when he finds it locked. Harry’s right behind him, carrying a chair. He leans over to whisper to him, “I have to break this door down, which means he’s gonna wake up. We’re lucky nobody else lives here, but we have to be fast. I’ll have my gun pointed to control him. Got it?”

Harry nods and stands back. Louis quietly backs up a few steps. He pulls his pistol out of his back pocket and then sprints towards the door. He kicks it open with his foot and the door collapses forward. 

Sure enough, the man in the bed springs upward and tries to run. “What the-?” He shuts up, though, when he registers the gun pointed at him. He’s half naked and slightly sweaty. He slowly raises his arms above his head. Louis puts a finger to his lips, indicating for him to stay silent. 

“Don’t move,” Harry tells the man, as he appears from behind Louis. He has nylon ties in his hands which he uses to secure the man’s wrists. Louis approaches him, as well, skillfully holding the gun with one hand and using his other to help Harry wrangle him into the chair. Harry connects the ties to the back rungs of the chair, rendering the man completely helpless.

Only then, does Louis lower his gun. Harry circles back around him to join Louis at his shoulder. He flicks on the light switch, so they can see more clearly. 

“Do you remember us, Michael?” 

Michael looks back at them, confused, trying to register their faces under the immense stress. His eyes are incredibly frantic and he looks like his brain is going to explode. As if he thinks Louis will kill him if he doesn’t remember. They’re gonna kill him anyway, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“Well?” Louis asks again. 

“No… no… I don’t. I’m sorry. Just please… what are you gonna do?”

“Whatever I want,” Louis spits, casually. 

Michael audibly gulps, which effectively makes Louis light up. He smirks, he can’t help it. He watches Harry take his knife out of his pocket and run it along his finger. He decides to go lay on the bed, for some reason. He stares at the ceiling and holds the knife up, still playing with it. Michael’s back is to Harry, so he can’t see what he’s doing. That fact seems to scare Michael even more, as he tries to turn around to find him. Louis stops him though by turning his head back with the barrel of his gun. 

“Don’t worry about him. He’s just crazy, right? And a liar? And an attention-seeker?” Louis teases him. 

Michael darts his eyes back and forth, still trying to process who he is. With this new information, he lights up. “Louis… and Harry,” he says slowly, working through it. 

Louis backs away from him and looks at his boyfriend. Harry’s smiling ever so slightly, still looking up. “Impressive, truly,” Louis scoffs sarcastically. 

“Okay… okay… so you’re here because I turned you away? Because I didn’t listen?” He looks at Louis, expecting an answer, but Louis just stares at him unamused. “Well I can listen now, right? I’ll listen and I’ll tell the police. I can help.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Harry chimes in from behind Michael. 

“Do you think we’re stupid?” Louis says right after. 

“No! I don’t think you’re stupid. That’s my point. You’re not stupid enough to think you’re gonna get away with this,” he says, trying to stay calm, but his face screams panic. 

“I hate to break it to you, but we’ve gotten away with it six times already.”

“You killed Jeff,” he says, as if he discovered the meaning of life. 

“Shocker, I know.” 

“How could you? I mean he was just a bully. He didn’t deserve to die,” Michael tries to reason, as if Louis or Harry are at the point of _reasoning_.

“You seriously still don’t believe us? Jeff was there. Jeff saw. _Jeff_ deserved to die.” Louis crosses his arms and leans against the dresser. 

“It’s hard to believe you aren’t crazy when you have a gun pointed at me.”

“Yeah?” Louis rolls his eyes, “Harry c’mere, love.” 

Harry looks up at him and swings his feet off the bed. He walks over to Louis, “What’s up?”

“Play the recording. The one you took 5 days ago. Michael would love to hear,” he tells Harry. Michael looks up at them, endlessly confused, while Harry pulls out his phone. He presses a button and Harry’s voice booms through it.

_“I’m right here, you know. I was always here, actually. I was here when you watched the whole thing go down and stayed silent. You were the only one who saw, Jeff. I remember locking eyes with you. I was silently begging you to help. But you did nothing. Turned your head away when I looked at you. You are a coward. Always have been.”_

And then Louis’ voice. 

_“Do you regret it?... Look at me… I said…. Do you regret it, Jeff?”_

Finally, what Louis was waiting for, Jeff’s shaky voice. 

_“Yeah, yeah, of course.”_

Harry presses the same button, effectively ending the recording. They both, in unison, turn to Michael, awaiting his response. 

“Why do you record it?”

“Because we can. What do you _think_ about it?” Louis asks, growing increasingly annoyed. 

“That could have been anyone. I’ve never spoken to Jeff.”

Harry rolls his eyes and walks back to the bed, just as Louis groans, “Are you _serious?_ ”

Michael slightly cowers away from Louis’ incredibly bothered voice. “Fine. Fine. I believe you. I’m sorry.”

“You are very unlikeable.”

“I’ve been told,” Michael replies to Louis’ irritated tone. 

Louis absolutely _despises_ how calm he sounds. He knows in his heart that Michael is scared to death and that he’s just trying to throw Louis off, but it still annoys the fuck out of him. Luckily, Harry, _god_ his _favorite_ boy, seems to understand. Louis watches him sneak up behind Michael, crawling across the bed. He carefully grabs a lock of Michael’s graying hair and starts cutting it. 

“It’s hard sometimes,” Harry says, startling Michael shitless. He tries to reach up to grab his hair, only to once again realize he can’t. “Having no one listen to you, no one believe you. If I’m being honest, Michael. If you had believed me, no one would have died. This is your fault.” 

Michael had turned to look at Harry slightly, so he’s startled once again when he turns back around to find the gun pointed right at his face. Louis had crouched in front of him as Harry was speaking. “That’s ridiculous. This is not because of me.”

“Oh, but it is, though,” Louis smirks at him, “And now…. You’re gonna die with the knowledge that someone’s cousin, someone’s coworker, someone’s ex-boyfriend, someone’s personal trainer, …” Louis dramatically counts off his fingers, occasionally looking up at him and admiring Michael’s frightened expression, “and someone’s uncle are all dead because of _you_.”

Harry tilts his chin and looks up at Louis. He has a huge smile on his face, not because of the situation, but because of his love for Louis. He can tell. 

This morning, they woke up and basically pretended like nothing happened the night before. Louis got up first, made Harry coffee, and then dragged him out of bed. Just like they always do. It was like their brief argument never happened. And now, _god_ Louis knows him well, Harry smiled at him because Louis just passed the guilt onto Michael, exactly what Harry has been trying to teach him since their first kill in January. 

“It makes it easier. Think about why we’re here. Not why _they_ ’re here. Yes, they are innocent, but it has to be this way. Or we don’t get justice,” Harry had said in his ear, just as they were about to break into the first house. Ever since then, the guilt dwindles. It pours out of him little by little every time Harry drags his blade across someone’s chest. Every time he sees the smile on Harry’s face when he does it. 

“You’re crazy,” Michael says, shaking his head and scoffing. He gulps and shuts his eyes, when Louis just stares right at him, holding the gun to his forehead. Louis has to physically restrain himself from smiling, when Harry starts humming softly and kicking his feet. He keeps cutting away at Michael’s hair. 

Suddenly, Michael starts rambling, “My name is Michael Lauder. I’ve been a trauma and childhood counselor for 20 years. I have two daughters. O-one is 19, one is 15. Tracy a-and Courtney. My wife…. Her name is Callie. We’ll have been m-married for 25 years in April. I grew up in Aberdeen-”

Louis doesn’t miss a beat, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Telling shooters personal facts about yourself makes them less likely to shoot you.”

“Yeah?” Louis chuckles, “Where’d you learn that? Cosmopolitan?”

“No… no… I saw it on TV.”

“Okay, Michael. My name is Louis Tomlinson. I’m 23 years old. I have 3 sisters, one is 19, and the other two are twins. Both 13. The older one’s name is Olivia. The twins are called Thea and-” Louis starts saying, mocking him. 

“My daughters… Louis. Don’t do this to them.”

Louis mockingly pouts at him just as Harry speaks up, still smiling giddily, “At least they had a father for a while.”

“And you don’t?” Michael asks. He still seems to be working some agenda to let him go and make them feel sympathy. 

“I technically have a father, yes. But I’m not sure Edward counts. I kinda forgot what he looks like, actually,” Harry replies, his voice even, not sad at all. 

“So why would you put someone else through what you went through, Harry?”

Harry scoffs and then his face goes serious, “The world is an evil place. The only way to fight it is to not care.”

“You’re sick.”

Harry bursts out laughing at that. “I know.”

Michael takes an audible deep breath, “What could you possibly get out of doing this?” he asks both Harry and Louis, “I mean are both of your egos so large that you have to force people to see you or what? You can’t move on? Well, I’m just saying, you need to get a grip on your priorities. Louis, you’re smart and you could go places, anywhere you want. And Harry… you’re…”

“I’m what?” Harry spits, not insecurely, but angrily. 

“You’re uh…” Michael scoffs, “persistent.”

“I can’t believe you’re being patronizing at a time like this,” Louis says. Harry just ignores him, and stands up off the bed. Louis watches Michael’s eyes track Harry as he walks in front of him. 

Louis knows what fear looks like. By now, he can tell the difference between actual fearlessness and acting. Michael has gone up and down the scale, from pure fear to fearless to acting. Right now, he’s acting. It’s almost like there’s a curtain around him, as if it’s shielding him from any harm. He’s using his calm smirk and empty eyes to shelter his knowledge of his impending, inevitable death.

Michael’s not an idiot. He must know by now that there’s absolutely now way he can get out of this situation. He knows he’s gonna die, one way or another. So he’s clearly just trying to go out without giving Louis and Harry the satisfaction they longed for. And Louis can almost respect it. Almost. 

Harry stands tall, just using his eyes to look down at the man in the chair. He doesn’t speak. Michael locks his eyes with Harry’s, but Louis can’t see his boyfriend’s face well enough to know why Michael immediately looks away. 

“This is ridiculous,” Louis suddenly says, matter-of-factly. He uncrosses his arms and moves towards the man in the chair. He catches the attention of Michael and dramatically cracks his knuckles, through the latex. 

He winds up his arm to deliver a punch, but Harry blocks him. He grabs his bicep and turns towards him, “I can be angry, too.”

Louis gives him an odd look, but backs up anyway. He gestures fake-gentlementy, “All yours.”

Harry ignores him and just turns back around. Michael gives him a blank stare, seemingly ready for anything. Harry looks down at his hand and makes a loose fist. 

Then before Michael can protest or Harry can back out, he swings. He makes contact with the right side of Michael’s jaw, causing small amounts of blood to splutter out from his mouth. Harry stumbles from the follow-through, and catches himself on the wall. 

Louis watches the entire scene. He watches the way Harry smiles at Michael, and then his fist, and then up at Louis. He watches the way Michael winces from the pain, but still mutters a condescending, “Ouch.”

Harry regains his composure. He shakes out his hand, thumbing the bruises. Louis’ about to intervene, to tell him to make sure his own blood doesn’t leak through the gloves, but Harry’s smart. He pulls off his glove and accesses it. From what Louis can see, his knuckles are bright red, but the skin hasn’t broken. He tilts his chin to look at Louis, who gives him a supportive nod. In any other scenario, Louis’d probably joke around and give him a huge thumbs up and slap on the back like a baseball dad. But, they have an image to uphold. At least for a few more minutes. 

Harry punches him again. This time, he doesn’t stumble. He plants his feet and manages to hit him even harder this way. Michael groans, one of his first genuine reactions. 

He feeds off that, just like he does when he’s using his knife. He smirks and swings again, two in a row. 

“This,” he punches Michael’s nose, “is for not listening.”

“This...” Another hit, “is for calling me crazy.” 

Harry laughs at himself before he delivers his final blow, “And finally, this…” he swings, the hardest one yet, “is for Jeff.” He chuckles again and shrugs, “Because I didn’t get to punch him.”

Michael’s face is a fucking mess. He’s whining slightly, his lips pursed, barely visible under his swollen face. He’s still trying to wiggle out of his ties, presumably just to relieve the pain on his face somehow. 

Harry squeezes his hand and faces Louis. He looks like he’s on something, his face red and his eyes glassy, and he’s smiling like a maniac. “That hurts more than it looks,” he giggles. 

Louis laughs back at him fondly, “You get used to it.”

“Pl-please.” Louis and Harry both snap their heads, following the sound of the insistent voice. Michael sits there, rocking the chair back and forth. 

Sometimes when they’re killing, they forget the world around them. Even sometimes, clearly, the person they are killing or _why_ they are doing it. Harry does it more, it’s obvious. He dumbs down his victims into pure objects. He doesn’t disregard his rage for the victim, but more that they are there and feeling something. Louis doesn’t think he’d ever stand there and watch Harry kill someone just because he felt like it. Everything they do is fueled by rage. A _need_ to feel heard, to feel important. Revenge. 

Michael brings them out of their own little world with his glassy eyes through his swollen eyelids. “Just, do something.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, “You want us to do something?” he asks teasingly. 

“I-I know you’re gonna kill me so just do it, or get out,” he hisses. 

Louis crouches in front of him, so they are eye-to-eye. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re not evil.”

Louis rolls his eyes and leans even closer, “You don’t know anything about me.” 

Michael sighs and whispers, so Louis can barely hear, “I know you well enough to know you aren’t gonna let him go to jail.”

“Clearly, you don’t. Because that’s exactly what he wants,” Louis bites back, matching his hushed tone. 

“You’re full of shit,” he spits. Physically spits. Right into Louis’ face. 

Louis groans and backs away, “I’m done. Tired of this.” He gestures over to Harry, who moved onto the bed again at some point. He nods and crawls right behind Michael.

“Tell my family-” Michael starts, as Louis positions his gun at his temple. 

“Shut up.”

“Louis, please… Tell them, tell them that I’m sorry….” 

“I don’t wanna hear-” Louis pauses, “Wait, what?”

Michael squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, “Tell them I’m sorry for everything I did.”

Louis retracts his gun and blinks at him, “What exactly did you do?”

“Louis,” Harry whispers. He looks at him and Harry shakes his head. 

“Right.” He returns his attention to his victim shaking in his chair and presses it back into his head, “I don’t wanna know.”

And then, Louis nods at Harry and Michael shuts his eyes again.

Louis pulls the trigger. 

_Click._

Michael’s eyes snap open. He dares to look in Louis’ direction, turning his head. He notices Louis’ frantic expression and the way he bangs the butt of the gun against his hand. Louis sees him smile through the corner of his eye.

“Fuck,” Louis mutters. 

The cue. 

Harry springs into action. He grips Michael’s jaw with left hand and snaps it up and back, exposing his neck. Then, with his right hand, he slices right through his throat, in one slick motion. 

Just like they practiced. 

Louis and Harry both skillfully jump back and out of the way so they don’t get any blood on them. Bright red spurts and spills from Michael’s neck, pouring down his bare chest and down his pants. 

It’s over quickly. The convulsing stops and his head sags to the side. Harry cut his carotid artery, just like he intended, so Michael stood no chance of even getting a word out.

They don’t move for a while, just glancing between the dead body and each other. 

Eventually, Harry mumbles, “That was perfect,” and cheekily offers his elbow to Louis. Louis returns the “fist bump” and smiles back at him. 

“Let’s finish up.”

Harry goes over and unties the body from the chair and carefully places it on the carpet, keeping all the blood off of him. He gets to work faster this time, not dragging out the process as he would if Michael was alive. He starts one deep laceration across the collarbones. 

As Harry’s working, Louis walks over to the dresser. Above it, is a large painting. The kind that you would only buy because you either won it, it’s expensive, or because the name sounded foreign enough. He rolls his eyes and leans over to take it off the wall. He sets it down on the floor, opening up a large space to write on. 

“Harry?” he calls out, his eyes not leaving the wall. He doesn’t respond.“H?”

“Sorry,” he coughs lightly, “What?”

“Can I do it?”

“Do what?” he says immediately, the sound of squishing skin and blood gushing almost louder than his voice. 

“The wall. I wanna try.” He gestures to the blank, beige wall, even though Harry’s not looking at him. 

Harry ponders to himself for one second and then decides, “You can do one letter.”

Louis turns to him and laughs out loud, “What?”

“One letter. Take it or leave it,” he says matter-of-factly, but even with his back turned to him, Louis can see his smile. He’s on to his fourth cut, right under where Michael’s pecks would be. 

Louis chuckles, “Fine.” He walks over to Harry and squats next to him. He dips two of his covered fingers into the first laceration. It’s slowly dripping, but mostly just pooling inside of itself, like a perfect palette for their twisted artwork. 

“Don’t let it drip,” Harry orders, as Louis stands back up. 

“Why?”

“It’s messy.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows as he walks back over to the wall, “You-,” he starts, but drops it, “Okay.”

He leans over and presses his two fingers to the wall, pressing hard enough to ink it, but not enough to let it drip. He slowly drags it down, and then when he decides it’s large enough, he pulls off. He goes over to Harry to get more blood and notices that he’s on his second to last cut. Harry doesn’t even mind him as he dips then goes back to the wall. He reattaches to the end of his last streak and turns to the right, painting parallel to the floor.

As he finishes and smiles at his work, he hears Harry get up and walk next to him. “L?”, he asks curiously. 

“I was thinking ‘LOUIS WAS HERE’,” he says, his voice dead serious. He gestures his hands dramatically, like a stereotypical artist does when showing off their work. 

Harry turns to him and they lock eyes. Harry looks like a mix of confusion and disbelief, his jaw slack. “Are you ser-”

Louis rolls his eyes, “I’m kidding. Write ‘LISTEN’.” He claps Harry on the back with his clean hand and Harry just gives him a weirded-out look, but nods anyway. He turns around and drags Michael’s disfigured body by his feet to bring his paint closer to the wall. 

As Harry gets to work, Louis snaps his bloody glove off his free hand, balls it up, and carefully places it in his backpack by the door. He gets a clean one from the box, puts it on, and then grabs the discarded ties from the floor. He throws them in the bag also. 

Then, just as he throws his pistol inside and zips up the bag, he hears something wailing in the distance. He snaps his head up and hushes Harry, who’s humming quietly. 

“What-”

“Shhh,” Louis stands up, “Listen.”

Harry goes quiet and they both listen. Louis thinks, no he _knows_ , he can hear the faint siren of a police car. Harry turns to him when he inevitably hears it. His eyes are filled with panic and fear. Louis just swears, “Fuck,” and throws the backpack over his shoulder. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Harry mutters to himself in a sort-of screaming whisper. 

Louis jogs over to the window, unlocks it and slides it open, “We gotta go, c’mon!” He looks back over to Harry who’s picking up his knife, and quickly cleaning it off with his glove. His curls are falling in his face and he’s still swearing under his breath. Finally, he slides the blade in his back pocket, and pulls out his phone from the other. He rushes to open the camera and snaps a photo. He finishes and runs over to the window, just as Louis gets a glance at the wall. It reads, ‘LIST’, with the ‘T’ only half way painted. 

Harry slides his body next to Louis, who’s hanging one leg out the window. They both look down to the grass below, as the sirens get louder and louder. “We can jump,” Louis says, his voice nervous and panicked.

Harry nods, just as nervously, “We have to.”

“You go first. Land with your knees bent and keep your center of gravity low and compact. If you need to, roll a bit to lessen the impact. As soon as you get your composure, get up and start running towards the woods that way, back to the car. Don’t look back and don’t stop.”

Harry gulps and nods. He swings his legs out, and as he’s about to jump, Louis stops him, “Wait! Your knife.”

Harry sighs in relief and places it into Louis’ outstretched hand. Then, before he can change his mind, he jumps. Louis watches him land a second later, landing on his feet and then falling forward. He gets up, though, and runs toward the woods, just as Louis said. He stumbles for a second, but regains his balance. 

Louis gives the room one last lookover, slightly grimacing at the horror scene. There’s blood everywhere, on the wall, on the floor, on Michael. Louis almost considers patting himself on the back for not getting any blood on him, but shakes his head. He peers down to the grass and jumps. 

He lands hard, his knees buckling. He feels an immediate pain in his ankles, but doesn’t even fall or stumble. He sprints towards the woods, following his boyfriend, who just breached the trees . His body is absorbed by the darkness, the trees engulfing him. 

Louis trusts Harry knows which way to run, and heads towards the south end of the woods, where their car is parked behind a vacant strip mall. 

He’s faster than Harry, so he’s not surprised when he catches up to him a minute later. He slows his pace slightly to run side by side with him. He’s breathing heavily, so his words are slow and hard to hear, but he manages to say to Harry, “They’ll survey the area…. a-and close it off, when they realize it’s.... not a false alarm, so we gotta h-hurry and get out of the city limits.”

The taller boy just nods and looks straight ahead again. There’s a large tree coming up right in front of them, and Louis dodges it to the right and Harry to the left. This part of the woods is mostly skinny trees and branches, mixed with a few larger ones, so it makes it hard to see obstacles in the pitch black of the night. Louis debates slowing down so they don’t get hurt, but decides they’re doing well so far. Harry’s determined and skillfully avoiding the trees that are only visible at the last second. Louis is finding it difficult to watch below him for large branches and ahead of him for tree trunks, but he manages. 

And then, suddenly, Harry stops in his tracks. Louis slows down with him, looking at him confused as he rests his hands on his knees. “W-what?”

“Listen,” Harry says, gesturing upwards while bending over as well. 

So, Louis listens. He strains his ears, trying to slow down his breaths to hear better. Except, there’s nothing. _Oh._ “There’s no siren. But, t-that just means they made it to the house and turned them off.”

Harry shakes his head, “No, I’ve been paying attention. It got louder and louder and then it started getting fainter,” he huffs out, “It wasn’t for us. It passed.”

“There’s no way… Are you sure?” Harry nods. “We need to get out anyway, I’m not taking any chances.”

Louis turns to start running again, but Harry calls out, “Louis wait!” in a strained voice.

“Yeah?” He turns around, only to find Harry on his knees, hunched over and clutching his chest. Louis jogs over to him and drops next to him, grabbing his head and pulling it into his own chest. Harry cries softly through small gasps. “Shhhhh… you’re okay... we’re okay.”

“I’m sorry. I- I just need a second.”

“It’s okay.” Harry yanks at his hair, so Louis pulls his hands away from his head and just laces them with his and presses them both into his chest. He kisses the top of Harry’s head and squeezes him even harder, trying to get Harry to catch his breath. 

After a bit, when his cries are slower and his breath is calm, Louis asks softly, “What happened?”

Harry pulls out of his embrace and turns to him, “While I was running, I had this vision of us getting caught at the end of the woods and separated… I don’t know… a-and we’d never speak to each other again. Like it was over instantly. I don’t know.”

“I’m here, now. Just…” Louis groans to himself, “Let’s just enjoy this, okay? We’re gonna be fine.”

Louis knows that’s not what he wanted to hear, but they haven’t come to this point by bullshitting each other.

Harry nods slowly and stands up. He reaches down and gives Louis a hand, pulling him up with him. Louis kisses him on the forehead, and then, shockingly Harry hugs him. Louis’ thrown off for a second but smiles and hugs him back. Harry whispers, “I wanna do this right at least once.”

“Why are you acting like I’m on my deathbed?” Louis laughs gently. 

“I don’t know. I’m tired. Can we just go to the car and get out of here?” Harry slumps onto him and reaches down to hold Louis’ hand.

“Great idea. You okay to run a bit?”

“Can’t we just… walk?” Harry sticks his lower lip out ridiculously. 

“I don’t feel comfortable being this close still. We really need to leave.” Harry furrows his brows and pouts even more. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Fine. Race you!” Harry drops his hand and sprints in the other direction, not looking back.

“Fucking toddler,” Louis groans and picks his backpack up that fell off at some point, and runs after him. 

It’s hard keeping up with Harry. Figuratively, that is. Literally, he catches up to Harry and passes him in 20 seconds. But, metaphorically, it’s impossible, even after so long of practicing. He finds himself laughing at him, and then crying for him, and laughing again, all in less than a minute. He thinks it’s Harry’s way of protecting himself. Instead of fighting his pain with fists, or even words, he fights them with new emotions. And it’s not even faked emotions, they are really what he’s feeling, it’s just that he can pull them out of nowhere. He hacks into his own brain like some kind of robot and codes for a new feeling. Harry might actually be a robot. Louis’d never say that to his face, though. Probably not the best compliment you can give someone. 

Louis reaches the car first and hops in the driver’s seat. He starts it up and throws his backpack in the back. Harry slides in the passenger seat a minute later, panting like a dog. They both pull their seatbelts on and smile at each other. Harry puts his hands on his head and sighs in relief, laughing a little. 

“Let’s go,” Harry breathes, and Louis presses on the gas pedal. They pull out from their hidden spot, half in a ditch and half behind a patch of trees. Louis slowly takes a back alley, watching out for any signs of life. Then, they reach a suburban style main road and take it, heading farther south.

Once they are settled, driving down a road with only a few cars here and there, they both let out huge exhales they didn’t even know they were holding. 

“Holy fuck…” Louis says slowly. 

“Yeah.”

“That was fun,” Louis marvels, drumming the steering wheel to the faint radio music. 

Harry looks away from the window and turns to him. He beams at Louis, “It really was.”

“Sorry you didn’t get to finish,” he adds with a sad smile. 

Harry shakes his head, “I don’t care.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow at him, “You don’t?”

“I mean… no not really? The point of it is to send a message. I think the scene sends a message in itself. Plus, it’ll just confuse Malik and his team even more.”

“Yeah,” Louis dismisses, not having the heart to question where his passion drifted off to. “You want McDonald’s?”

“ _Please_.”

Harry’s dragged out tone punches a loud laugh out of Louis, “Alright, let’s go. It’s the only place open at 5 anyway.”

Harry nods and pulls out his phone. H _e gr_ oans after a minute, “It’s fucking blurry!”

Louis leans over to look. “No it’s not. You did good, love. It’s perfect, just like always.”

Harry smiles, unconvinced. After a few minutes, though, he smiles at Louis, “I can’t believe we pulled it off. What was it called? Oh yeah,” Harry gestures in the air, “Operation Carotid.”

Louis guffaws, “That is _not_ what we called it.”

Harry shakes his head teasingly, “Yes it is.”

“No, it’s not! That sounds like… medical-related or something.”

Harry nods and grins even wider, “ _Exactly,_ it’s a science, Louis. An art,” he chuckles, “If you will.”

“I never thought you’d enjoy this so much.”

“What? I mean, c’mon. If we’re doing this anyway, why not _not_ be miserable doing it?”

“Do I seem like I’m not enjoying it?” Harry shrugs in response. “Well, I am. Every minute. It’s just… you have to keep your perspective, your compassion. Or you’ll end up no better than the person you just killed.”

Harry thinks he hid it well, but Louis sees him roll his eyes before he turns to look back out the window, “Do you think any of those people you read about in books, or in documentaries, or talk to in jail, ever cared about _compassion_?”

Louis sighs, “No, but-”

“The tiniest spark of compassion I had left in my body fluttered away happily after my freshman year of high school.”

“ _No!_ Okay, Harry, don’t you get it?” Louis yells, and Harry turns to him. “You’re not this crazy, psychopathic, cold-hearted, detached person you think you are.”

“Except I am. I just… happen to love you. So, you don’t see it.”

“Harry, this is two-fucking-sided. Just because you’re your true self around me because you ‘love’ me, doesn’t make this,” he gestures between them, “any less genuine. I had to love you back.”

“Who do you love, then?”

“What?” Louis stares at him. 

“What side of me do you love?”

Louis rolls his eyes, “I love all of you, you fucking idiot.”

“But you just said-”

“What I _said_ , is that the image you have of yourself, the image that’s been reiterated and reinforced since you were a kid, is the result of what has happened to you. It’s not you.”

Louis reaches a McDonald’s and pulls into a spot next to the drive-through. Harry crosses his arms and leans back against his door. Louis unbuckles himself and crawls closer to the boy. “I just happened to be smart enough to see past this crazy web of darkness and see the kid who just wanted to go star-gazing all the time. That’s you.”

Harry frowns slightly, “If I’m just a kid who wants to go star-gazing and _you’re_ just a kid who can see that, then why have we killed 12 people?”

Louis smiles at him, “Because nobody’s perfect.”

They stare at each other and then burst out into laughter. Harry shakes his head fondly, “Nobody’s perfect.”

They lean in closer, so Louis’ nose is an inch away from Harry’s. He’s struggling to hold himself up in the awkward angle. Harry puts his hands on Louis’ shoulder to hold him back for a second and whispers, “Louis?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you, too. I- um, don’t say that enough, but like, really, I do. I try not to think about it much, but I really don’t know what would have happened to me if you gave up on me like everyone else. And _fuck_ , I’m making it about me, I’m so-”

Louis grins ever so wide and says, “I know you love me.” He takes Harry’s wrists off his shoulders and shoves them into his chest, holding them between their bodies. “I know.”

Harry blushes immediately and stretches up to kiss him. Louis snakes his hands up to cup his face and deepens it. Harry bites on Louis’ lower lip and slides his tongue inside, taking the lead. Louis lets him, and loosens up, allowing Harry to explore his mouth as he pleases. 

He does withdraw a second later and grabs a handful of Louis’ hair, he moans a bit right in front of Louis’ face, “I want a burger.”

Louis shoves him lightly, playfully into the door and climbs off of him and back into the driver’s seat. “I hate you.”

“I’m hungry.”

Louis starts the car, “Whatever.”

After getting their food from a surprisingly slow drive-through (given the time), they drive around until they find a small campground on the side of the road. It’s completely vacant, so they park and pull some blankets and pillows out from the backseat and climb on top of the car. 

“We’re visiting my family, remember?”

Harry just shushes him and Louis turns back to watch the stars. A small breeze runs over them, teasingly. It rustles Louis’ hair only slightly, and mostly just sets the mood with the faint whoosh. The stars are relentless, shining down on them. They twinkle and blink. Louis finds each one so incredibly consuming, it becomes impossible for him to distinguish between them. They connect together into one big picture, just lighting up the sky, working together as a team. Louis thinks that might mean something. Probably not. 

“That one reminds me of you,” Harry says suddenly, pointing to a pair of stars right next to each other. 

“Why?”

“It’s brighter than the one next to it, but it doesn’t outshine it, it just illuminates it.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter at DALLASMELOUIS 
> 
> i hope you keep reading :)


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